


What Can Be Mended

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [80]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Ignoring s5, M/M, Someone still dies to defeat the Monster, The Mosaic was real, Time Magic Bullshit, for once not a lack of communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: It should be raining,Quentin thinks.He sits at the table tucked against a window in the loft where they spent the past two months trying to find a way to save Eliot and stop the Monster, staring out the window into bright sunshine, the people of New York City moving about their lives below, and can barely think past the dissonance. He just lost... half of his whole world, shouldn't there be some sign of that, out there? Some sign other than the shattered mirror in the living room, the one Marina had used for her mirror bridge. It should be raining,storming,nature itself grieving the loss of -Quentin swallows, closes his eyes, and presses the heels of his palms against them, hard enough to make stars burst across the back of his eyelids. Dimly, he's aware of footsteps approaching, and when he looks up, he frowns, glances away just as quickly. "Fuck off," he says shortly, barely more than a mutter. "Can't you give me five fucking minutes to myself?""Quentin," the Monster says, and his voice trembles. "It's me."
Relationships: Fen/Margo Hanson/Josh Hoberman, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Collaborations [80]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 8
Kudos: 150





	What Can Be Mended

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Couple quick things before we get started!
> 
> First: The premise for this fic was thought up _long_ before either of us ever saw any of those bullshit interviews where the writers said they wanted to explore the white lead not being safe, and we want to be clear that we absolutely do not mean for this fic to change that to "the WOC isn't safe so that our white gays can be happy."
> 
> Second: Yes, Quentin/Alice is tagged, because the first part of the fic has them attempting their relationship the way that they said they wanted to in the show, before the bullshit s4 finale. However, it's not endgame, and the two of them eventually decide they're better off as friends, and that their priorities are too different for a romantic relationship to work between them. We tried our best to treat Alice as respectfully as possible here!

_It should be raining,_ Quentin thinks. 

He sits at the table tucked against a window in the loft where they spent the past two months trying to find a way to save Eliot and stop the Monster, staring out the window into bright sunshine, the people of New York City moving about their lives below, and can barely think past the dissonance. He just lost... half of his whole world, shouldn't there be some sign of that, out there? Some sign other than the shattered mirror in the living room, the one Marina had used for her mirror bridge. It should be raining, _storming,_ nature itself grieving the loss of - 

Quentin swallows, closes his eyes, and presses the heels of his palms against them, hard enough to make stars burst across the back of his eyelids. Dimly, he's aware of footsteps approaching, and when he looks up, he frowns, glances away just as quickly. "Fuck off," he says shortly, barely more than a mutter. "Can't you give me five fucking minutes to myself?"

"Quentin," the Monster says, and his voice trembles. "It's me."

"Right," Quentin scoffs. "Seriously, now is _not_ the time for one of your games. Fuck off."

The Monster makes a movement like he's going to reach out; he doesn't, but Quentin flinches all the same, and he looks up in spite of himself. The Monster is wearing an over-sized white sweater, cableknit and chunky and soft-looking, the sleeves slipping down over his hands, and jeans. He's barefoot, his hair damp like he's just showered and cascading in soft waves almost to his shoulders. There's a pain in his eyes Quentin has never seen before.

"No games, Q," he says, very quietly. "I swear."

Quentin swallows, shakes his head minutely before his gaze returns to the window. "Just - Sit down, if you're going to. Or don't. I don't care, anymore."

The Monster sighs, and for a moment Quentin thinks he's actually going to walk away - but then he pulls out the chair across from Quentin and folds himself into it, gingerly, like he's stiff and achy. He stares at Quentin expectantly for several long moments, but Quentin doesn't look at him. And then he starts to speak.

"I grew up on a farm," he says, "in Indiana. My dad was a homophobic, xenophobic asshole, and so were my brothers. My mother was just scared of him, I think, but that's no excuse. I grew up scared in my own home. Scared they would really see me, find out what I was, and hate me. Of course I think they always knew. Logan Kinnear knew, and he tortured me for it. I killed him when I was fourteen, and I managed to run all the way home before I threw up. As I got older, I started to..." He clears his throat. "I started to sneak around. I got fucked for the first time when I was fifteen, outside behind his family's barn. It hurt. The guy wouldn't look at me afterwards. He was disgusted with me. I was disgusted with myself. But I kept doing it. My dad beat me to within an inch of my life when he caught me with a different boy a few years later; I thought he actually had killed the guy, for a while. I left home when I was eighteen. And, well, you know how much of a shitshow I was after that. Drugs, alcohol, sex. I was hollow. I didn't really start getting myself together until I met Bambi, and even then..."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and flexes his hands where they rest together on the table. He starts again.

"But you. You were the sweetest kid. You felt so much, for everyone. When you were little, you used to cry if you heard another kid crying in the grocery store, because you were sad that they were sad. You still feel like that, sometimes. Your parents divorced, and it wasn't your fault, and it wasn't theirs, but you lost yourself, a little." His voice softens, speaking so that only Quentin can hear even though the rest of the apartment is silent. "You were first hospitalised when you were sixteen, and you cried yourself to sleep the first night, not because you tried to take your own life but because you failed. But you found the strength to carry on. Your dad and Julia and-- and Fillory, helped you to find a reason to fight again. And you've been fighting ever since."

The breath that Quentin draws in is shaky, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with unshed tears - but he doesn't say anything, not yet. He can't find the words, even in his own head, to articulate what he's feeling after hearing all of that. And clearly, it's not over yet. 

"It wasn't all doom and gloom, though," the man Quentin can't bring himself to name continues. "I was excellent in my production of _Les Mis_ , and you had Julia to help you escape. She talked with you for hours about Fillory, and helped you make up your own stories; she--" He laughs. "She made up that ridiculous dance with you to that song I can't remember. And we both made it to college, though God only knows how. We made it to Brakebills, and when I met you, oh, I knew my life was going to change forever." He takes a breath, his own eyes shimmering, and goes on. "Quentin, I know you inside and out. I've loved you for the better part of a century. I'm ready to be brave now."

Quentin stares at the man across from him for a long moment before he draws in a ragged breath, reaches up to wipe at his eyes before the tears gathered there can fall. "It's really you?" he asks, voice barely more than a tattered whisper. 

"Yeah, Q," Eliot murmurs. He gives Quentin the most heartbreaking smile, but he still doesn't reach out. "It's me."

Quentin does reach out, then - his hand is shaking as he fumbles for Eliot's on the table, holds on maybe far too tightly. "I thought - I woke up Julia's spark, but I didn't think she really could... But she did. She saved you."

"At the cost of her life," Eliot says, and some tears slip free then. "Q, I'm so sorry."

"She made her choice," Quentin says, but it sounds like a mantra he's been repeating without belief. "If she hadn't, I don't know how we would have..." He swallows, hard, glances at Eliot, then away, and finally back at Eliot. "She made her choice," he says again. "And I can't - I can't say I wouldn't have made the same one, if I'd been in her position."

Eliot's hand, which until now has been slack in Quentin's hold, grips him tight. "Still," he says. "It was my fault. All of it."

Quentin hesitates before asking, "How do you figure that?"

"I shot the Monster," Eliot says. "If I hadn't fucked everything up in Castle Blackspire, none of this would have happened."

"You shot him with a god-killing bullet," Quentin says quietly. "Even if you hadn't, there was a lot of other stuff going on, with Fogg and the Librarians. He might've still gotten out somehow. And I don't... blame you. For _why_ you shot the Monster."

Quentin can tell Eliot wants to argue, but he doesn't seem to have the strength. "Well," he says. "Even so. I'm sorry."

Quentin's smile is small but genuine before he changes the subject. "How are you feeling?"

Eliot cracks a smile, then. "Awful," he says. "You?"

"I could be better," Quentin admits with a humorless laugh, almost absently squeezing Eliot's hand. 

Eliot squeezes back. "I'm exhausted," he admits. "My whole body is aching. Do you think... Would you want to lie down?"

Quentin hesitates for only a moment before he nods. "Yeah," he says, smiling and getting to his feet. "That sounds nice." They don't talk or let go of each other's hands as they cross the apartment, back to the bedroom where Eliot spent the night before recuperating from having the Monster ripped from his body. They only separate to walk to opposite sides of the bed, each picking their side without talking about it and climbing in. It's only when they're settled on their sides, facing each other, that Quentin finally breaks the silence. "What did you mean?" he asks in a murmur. "When you said you’re ready to be brave?"

Eliot smiles at him through the gloom. "You've always been the bravest of the two of us," he says. "But that day especially, after we remembered the mosaic. You told me what you wanted, and you handed yourself over to me, and I... I wasn't brave. I was a coward of astronomical proportions. When I broke free to talk to you in that park, I had to do it by confronting the memory of that day, the biggest regret of my life. And I promised myself that if I ever found my way back to you, I'd be brave, too."

"Oh," Quentin breathes, blinking for a moment before he searches out Eliot's hand once again. "You - Really? I mean, I thought the... peaches and plums reference was just so I knew it was you."

Eliot squeezes his hand. "I mean, it served multiple purposes," he allows. "But, Quentin, I'm in love with you. I have been for... I don't even know how long. Whatever that means to you now, you need to know."

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath. " _El,_ " he says - and his expression is anguished, vaguely apologetic. "I - I just spent two months trying to save you. But there's other - Alice and I..." He takes a shaky breath. "She and I... talked. And we... We wanted..."

Eliot's hand slips from Quentin's. "You're trying again," he breathes.

Quentin doesn't try to take his hand back. "We want to be in each other's lives," he whispers. "And we - we need to find out where we fit, and this is where we're starting. I... I love you. But after we remembered the mosaic, I thought - I thought you didn't want me to love you that way, the way we did. And everything else happened, and then... I wanted to save you. I wanted _you_ back so badly, but I thought if we succeeded, you'd just... go back to Fillory with Margo. Because I thought you didn't want. To stay with me." He has to pause, clear his throat. "So I just... I pushed it back. And when Alice said she wanted to try again... I said okay."

Eliot visibly collects himself, and nods. "Okay," he says. "That's-- I get it. You don't have to do anything with what I said - I know I missed my shot a long time ago. And you and Alice. I mean, that's..."

Quentin huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. "It's _something,_ but we aren't sure what," he admits. "I meant it, when I said I love you. And some part of me is always going to be _in_ love with you, I just... don't know how big that part is anymore."

Eliot gives him a crooked smile. "Don't worry about it," he says. "No pressure. Seriously. I just... wanted you to know. That you're loved, and that I'm sorry."

Quentin's own smile is soft. "I appreciate that," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, too, that the timing just... doesn't want to work out for us."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Eliot tells him. His eyes close for a moment. "But I-- I really am tired. You don't have to stay."

"No," Quentin hums. He hesitates for only a moment before he reaches up and oh-so-carefully brushes Eliot's hair away from his forehead. "But I want to. Get some rest, El."

* * *

Eliot falls asleep easily, but Quentin stays awake, thinking, until he hears the front door open and close. He takes care not to disturb Eliot as he climbs out of bed and slips from the room, and finds Margo and Alice taking off their jackets.

Alice offers him a tentative smile, but Margo speaks first. "How's the patient?"

Quentin gives Alice an answering smile before he shifts his attention to Margo. "Exhausted," he says. "In, like, every way."

"Is he sleeping?" Margo asks.

"Yeah," Quentin says, nodding as he wraps one arm around himself. "He was up for a little bit, showered. And we talked, then went back to bed."

"What did he say?" Margo presses. Alice just watches on, her gaze intent on Quentin's face.

"He, um. Told me how he was able to break out to talk to me, that day in the park," Quentin answers. "And said he felt... responsible. For everything that happened, because he shot the Monster in Castle Blackspire."

Margo looks stricken, and even Alice winces. "Well, he's not fucking wrong, the idiot," Margo says. "But he really doesn't need you playing the blame game right now, Q."

"You think I - " Quentin's expression turns furious. "I told him I didn't blame him!" he hisses, mindful of the fact that the walls in this apartment aren't all that thick. "I'm not playing the blame game, Margo, because there was so much other shit going on at the time that we are _all_ responsible for what happened. It was our quest. All of us."

Margo doesn't react to Quentin's anger; she just looks at him impassively for a long moment. "Good," she says at last. "I'm going to go and sit with him."

Quentin takes a deep breath, collecting himself before he nods, watching Margo step around him. Once she's gone, he steps up to Alice, giving her a soft smile and reaching to draw her in for a hug. "Hey. How'd the meeting with Fogg go?"

"Fine," Alice says. She hugs back, and just holds on for a long moment. "The Library isn't regulating magic anymore - and he mentioned that Brakebills is looking for new professors." She pulls back to look up at him. "Are you okay?"

There's something lacking in Quentin's smile. "My childhood best friend just sacrificed herself to save one of my new best friends and the world yesterday. I could be doing better."

"I know," Alice says. She reaches up to tuck an invisible strand of Quentin's still-too-short hair behind his ear. "Is there anything I can do?"

Quentin leans into her touch. "Just be here?" he suggests. "As much as you can be without interfering in your life." He hesitates, then asks, "Do you... Are you going to look into teaching at Brakebills? I mean, you've got the knowledge for it."

Alice hesitates. "I'm thinking about it," she admits. "Fogg seems to want me to. But I don't know."

"What's stopping you?" Quentin asks, encouraging. 

"I'm just not sure it's what I want," Alice admits. "What do you think?"

Quentin considers the question as he leads Alice over to the couch. "I think... You can do whatever you set your mind to. But I don't know if you have... The patience, maybe, for teaching large classes?"

Alice shrugs. "I'll have to think about it," she says. "What about you? Would you be interested?"

"I'd have to think about it," Quentin echoes, smiling. "I think... it sounds fun? Crazy, but fun. And I want to help people see every part of magic, I think. Good and bad."

Alice smiles. "Well, we don't have to decide right away," she says. "It's just one option."

"Yeah," Quentin agrees, though there might just be something strange in his tone of voice. "Just something to think about."

* * *

Margo spends the rest of the afternoon at Eliot's bedside, only leaving to get some dinner when Quentin sticks his head in and says it's ready. She brings back two servings, and smiles when she sees Eliot waking up. "Hey, baby," she says quietly, nudging the door shut behind her. "You spent most of the day sleeping."

"I'm just so tired," Eliot says, his voice rough and scratchy. He pushes some of his frankly ridiculous hair out of his eyes and sits up. "Where's Q?"

"Out in the kitchen," Margo says, settling onto the bed next to Eliot. "He made dinner."

Eliot pulls a face. "Q cooked?"

"One of those frozen dinners you throw in the oven," Margo clarifies. "He and Alice are still alive, and it actually smells pretty good, so."

Eliot goes curiously still. "Alice is here?" he asks, voice quiet.

Margo gives him a curious, assessing look. "Yeah; she doesn't really have anywhere else to stay right now, and this place has plenty of bedrooms."

"Of course," Eliot says. He clears his throat. "Um. I'm starving, actually."

Margo obligingly hands over one of the bowls and a spoon. "It's some kind of chicken pasta bake," she says. "Here."

"Thanks, Bambi," Eliot sighs. "You're the best."

"And don't you ever forget it," Margo says, reaching out to knock her foot against Eliot's leg under the blankets. "Come on, eat. That dickhead didn't exactly do your body any favors."

Eliot's smile is only a little strained as he does as Margo commands. 

* * *

Eliot and Margo stay tucked away in what's been staked out as Eliot's room for the rest of the night, but the next day after Kady leaves to take care of hedge witch business and Alice goes with her to help her try to figure out a solution to the Reed's Marks, they finally emerge, dressed for an outing. Margo pesters Quentin into putting some halfway decent clothes on to match them before she all but drags them out of the apartment and to a nearby cafe overlooking a small park. "We are _not_ moping like sad sacks," Margo says firmly when Quentin asks why she's so adamant about this. "Grieving is one thing, but you two are dangerously close to _moping_ and I'm not having that."

So, they end up at a cafe, grabbing drinks and sandwiches before they venture into the park. It's midday, in the middle of the week, so there's only a few other people in the park with them, easily avoided. "This is... good," Quentin offers eventually, tossing the wrapper from his sandwich into a nearby trash can. "Getting out of the apartment."

Eliot nods. "It's nice here," he offers. "Quiet."

Margo looks like she's literally biting her tongue on some sarcastic comment, and Quentin has no idea who she's holding back for, but he's grateful nonetheless as he offers Eliot a small smile. "I... think this park has a pond? We could wander around, find a place to sit for a while."

Eliot hesitates, but then he smiles. "Sure," he agrees.

Margo rolls her eyes hard enough that Quentin’s surprised the fairy one doesn’t just pop right out of her skull, but she doesn’t say anything as the three of them turn down the path that winds around the park and to the pond. They don’t talk as they amble down the path, but once they’re in sight of the pond, Margo’s phone rings. She can’t hide the way her expression softens when she sees the name on the screen, and she gestures for them to go on ahead as she steps to the side, answering the call.

”I bet that’s Josh,” Quentin hums as they sit on a nearby bench, just out of earshot of Margo.

Eliot frowns. "Josh?"

Quentin hums an affirmative. "It's a... long story, but basically they fucked to keep Josh from killing someone or himself or raping someone during his first full moon as a werewolf, and then they just... kept fucking. Like, a lot. And she's been - Okay, it's kind of weird, but she's been almost _soft_ around him sometimes?"

"Margo? Soft?" The ghost of a smile graces Eliot's lips. "Never."

"Right?" Quentin demands, laughing. "It's so _weird,_ but there was this whole thing with Josh being cursed to be a fish and needing constant attention and - " He shakes his head, smiling. "It's... Okay, I'm only saying this because she's distracted and can't hear me right now, but honestly? It's kind of cute. I don't think it would work out long-term, but, y'know. It was good that she had someone in Fillory who actually cared about her during all this."

"Fillory," Eliot repeats, his mouth twisting. "Right."

Quentin hesitates, feeling like he just stuck his foot in his mouth somehow. "El? You... okay?"

Eliot blinks. "Yeah," he says, "I'm fine." He smiles. "Sorry."

Quentin makes a vaguely frustrated noise. "You don't need to apologize. What're you thinking? You looked like you were thinking about something pretty hard."

"Just--" Eliot waves a hand. "It's something else I fucked up. And I left Margo to clean up my mess, and now she's stuck _here_."

"She's here because she's your friend," Quentin reminds Eliot, shifting until he can gently knock their knees together. "And, hey; when you're stronger, feeling better, I'm sure we'll find a way to get you back to Fillory. I know you miss it."

Eliot lets out a slow breath, and turns so that he can look out over the water. "Yeah," he says. "I guess so."

"Do you... not want to go back to Fillory?"

"I don't know," Eliot admits. "It feels like our entire lives went to shit as soon as we stepped foot on that planet. Don't you think?"

Quentin considers that for a moment. "I don't know," he says slowly. "I mean... I think it was the Beast's fault, really. If it wasn't for him, things wouldn't have gotten so fucked up that we had to go to Fillory in the first place."

"I guess," Eliot agrees. "Do you mind if we walk around the pond? I want to stretch my legs."

Quentin smiles and nods, standing up so he can offer Eliot his hand. "Sure. Margo will catch up later."

Eliot takes his hand readily enough, and doesn't let go as they meander around the pond, even once Margo joins them again.

* * *

The apartment is empty when they get back to it, so Eliot takes over the kitchen while Margo goes to the bathroom and Quentin sets up shop in the living room. Eliot is halfway through making coffee when he spots a box of herbal tea, and decides for the first time in his life that he might quite like a cup. He crosses the apartment and reaches out for Quentin's shoulder without even thinking about it. "Hey, Q--"

Quentin almost jumps out of his skin, a bitten-off curse barely escaping. " _Jesus_ \- " He pauses, closes his eyes for a moment, then gives Eliot a strained smile. "Sorry. Um. What did you need?"

Eliot stares at him. "I just wanted to know if you wanted some tea," he says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, Q."

Quentin takes in a breath, and the second smile is a little more natural. "It's fine, I'm just - Still on edge, I guess, after everything. Tea would be great."

"Great," Eliot says. "I'll-- Do that."

"Thanks," Quentin says, something still off about his expression as he resettles himself on the couch, pulling his laptop back into place. 

Margo finds Eliot in the kitchen a few minutes later. "So, it seemed like our little nerd was very deliberately not looking at me as I came through the living room," she says quietly, propping a hip against the counter next to Eliot. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Eliot says, also deliberately not looking at her as he stirs the teabag around in his own cup, encouraging it to brew. "I crept up on him, gave him a shock."

Margo straightens. "You snuck up on him?"

"Not on purpose," Eliot says, cutting her a sharp glance. "It's not a big deal."

Margo relaxes back against the countertop, though there's something extra-intense behind her eyes. "You know how twitchy he was even before all this shit of the past year happened. Hell, _I'm_ twitchy now."

Eliot frowns at her. "Bambi," he says, "it was an accident. I apologised."

Margo's expression softens further, and she sighs, steps forward so she can wrap an arm around Eliot. "Okay. I've missed hearing you call me that, y'know."

Eliot pulls her fully into his arms and just holds her, his face hidden in her hair. "I've missed _you_ ," he says.

Margo tucks herself closer. "Don't be that reckless again," she mutters. "Or I'll come find you in the Underworld and drag you out by the hair."

Eliot chuckles. "You promise?"

"I fuckin' _swear._ "

* * *

Julia's funeral is... well. Eliot isn't sure he's qualified to pass judgement, but it's rather beautiful. They gather together, all of them, for the first time since it happened, and they talk about her, how lovely she was, how good, how strong. Those who loved her most - Quentin, of course, and Kady, Penny, even Fogg - step up to the fire crackling in their midst and burn things that meant something to Julia and each of them. Quentin burns the first _Fillory_ book, which Eliot supposes makes sense; Kady chooses a necklace; Fogg offers up what looks like Julia's entrance exam; and Penny chooses something small and compact that Eliot doesn't see. He wonders idly if it's something that meant something to this Julia, or to the first Julia he lost.

Eliot hangs back with Margo and Alice throughout much of this. He liked Julia fine, in the end, and he's incredibly grateful for what she did for him, but he didn't love her like Quentin did; he doesn't feel her loss as keenly as everyone else does. So he just watches, lets Margo hold his hand, and keeps himself to himself. Quentin folds in on himself as the flames curl around his book, collapses into helpless sobs, and Alice moves then, takes him in her arms and just holds him until the flames start to die and someone decides it's time to leave.

Eliot doesn't look. He owes Quentin this, at least.

Afterwards, they all head back to the apartment for a drink and something to eat. It's not a formal thing like every other wake Eliot has been to, and it's quiet for it, almost awkward. No one seems to know what to do in this space with Fogg in their midst. The group isn't big enough for them to split into smaller groups and talk more freely, so they all pile into the living area, sipping gingerly at their drinks and each silently refusing to be the first to touch the food. Maybe they're just not hungry. Eliot isn't.

He is dry, though, so he gets carefully to his feet with the intention of heading to the kitchen. At his movement Quentin drains the last of his drink, too, so as he passes him Eliot reaches down to take Quentin's glass from his hand.

When Quentin flinches, Eliot first thinks that he just didn't realize Eliot was passing by; it wouldn't be unreasonable, considering the circumstances. But then he catches the look that Alice gives him - odd, not quite _aggressive,_ but also not exactly sympathetic - and another possibility occurs to him: He's being inappropriate. He's overstepping the boundaries Quentin set, moving on Alice's turf, and it's making them both uncomfortable.

_Shit._

"Sorry, Q," he murmurs, too low, too intimate - and then turns to the rest of the group. "Does anyone need a refill?"

Fogg, gods bless him, breaks the strained silence quickly. "Yes. Something a bit stronger, if you've got it."

Kady clears her throat. "Marina kept the hard stuff in one of the cabinets in the island," she offers. "Good time to break into that stash."

Now is not the time to be selfish, so Eliot just smiles at her. "Of course," he says. "I'll see what I can whip up."

Marina had quite the collection of alcohol, and it only takes Eliot a few minutes to mix together some simple drinks. A quick look in the fridge reveals little to mix the alcohol with except some Coke, so he brings back several glasses of whiskey with amaretto in Coke. As he rounds the couch, passing out the drinks, he notices Alice staring at him again; her expression has shifted to something unreadable, but the thanks she gives him is pleasant enough. 

Quentin doesn't comment on the drink that's put in his hand, but Kady does. It starts with a sharp, bitter laugh, and then: "God, I can't remember how many of these I saw her drink after that stupid bank heist."

Quentin glances up then, seems to register what's in his hand. "Oh. Yeah, she - " He clears his throat. "She hated beer and wine. Liked her alcohol... 'strong enough to knock Ember on his ass.'"

Eliot blinks. "Did I just fuck up?" he asks.

Quentin shakes his head, looking up long enough to give Eliot a slight smile. "No, it's - it's fitting," he says, quiet. 

Kady lifts her glass in an impromptu toast. "To Julia, the only goddess who really deserved the title."

"To Julia," Eliot echoes, and the others follow suit.

"She was a hell of a woman," Penny adds, talking into his glass. "In all lifetimes."

"Brilliant," Fogg offers. "Every loop, she always found her way to magic, and found new ways to make it shine."

"Relentless," Quentin murmurs, taking another sip of his drink. "She didn't stop pestering me until we were friends, and until I'd read the Fillory series. And with magic, with everything that happened..."

"She was wonderful," Margo agrees, with a surprising amount of sincerity. "But can we eat first? I'm fuckin' starving."

Surprising everyone, it's Quentin who snorts out a laugh, breaking the tension. "Yeah, okay. Let's eat."

* * *

Margo finds Eliot two days later, while Alice and Quentin are gone and Kady is upstairs sleeping after being out all night with a hedge witch emergency. Eliot is in the kitchen, fussing with... Almost too many dishes at once for any reasonable person to keep up with. Margo, however, recognizes most of them; he'd cooked a similar spread for their first year finals. "So, are you worried about something specific, or are you just working out nervous energy?" she asks, leaning against some free counter space at the island.

Eliot doesn't look up, largely because he currently has his head in the oven. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says.

Margo reaches out and snags a glazed baby carrot. "Sure you don't. You don't cook like this unless something's eating you, babe."

"So what if something's eating me?" Eliot asks, straightening up with a sigh. "I'm post-possession. One of my best friends' best friend died to save me. It's a whole thing."

"It is," Margo concedes with a slight tilt of her head, watching Eliot carefully. "It's a fuck-awful thing, too."

"Exactly," Eliot says. "So, I'm cooking."

Margo hums, picking up another carrot. “Is that the only reason you’re cooking like this?”

"Stop that," Eliot says, smacking at her hand. "And drop it, Margo, really."

Margo barely manages to keep the carrot in her hand, and pops it into her mouth with a defiant look. "No," she says after she finishes chewing. "I'm your best friend, bitch. What the fuck else is on your mind?"

Eliot deflates, defeated. "Q said something the other day," he says. "Something I'd forgotten all about, because I'm a selfish asshole."

Margo's brow furrows. "What did he say?"

"Something about Fillory," Eliot says. "You have a kingdom to get back to."

Margo sighs. "I do," she admits, "but right now it's in good hands. I was..." She hesitates, then pushes up her sleeves to bare the brands on her wrists to Eliot's view. "Technically, I was banished. I'm going to get my throne back, but it's going to take a bit more effort than listening to a drunk bear this time."

Eliot crosses the kitchen in three quick strides and snatches up Margo's wrist. "What the fuck, Bambi?"

Margo lifts her chin defiantly. "It was the only way to talk to the Foremost and get the axes to _save your life,_ " she says fiercely. "I told Fen to overthrow me, exile me. And I'd do it again, except maybe take some heavy-duty painkillers first, even if things worked out the same way they did this time."

Eliot's jaw tightens. "Well," he says, "you won't need to do it again. What you need to do is get Fillory back."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "What I need to do is take care of my best friend," she says firmly. "And, honey, all of this?" She gestures at the food spread over practically the entire kitchen. "Tells me that I need to stay for a while longer. I'm not leaving you yet, not when you're clearly still finding your feet."

Eliot sniffs. "I'm fine," he says, though it's weak.

"El," Margo says quietly, and when he looks at her - He hasn't seen her make that expression since their Trials, more than a lifetime ago. "What's wrong?"

Eliot takes a breath. "All right," he says. "You want me to spill my guts? Fine. But it's a fucking lot and you're going to regret it."

"Try me," she says simply. 

So Eliot does. "I remember the timeline we didn't live, the one where we got the Time key," he says. "We both do. CliffNotes version: we had a son. We were married. We were madly in love. And I fucked it all up."

Margo blinks, then frowns. "How did you fuck it up?"

"He asked me to give it a shot, the night of your wedding," Eliot tells her. "I told him no. I told him he wasn't queer enough for me, and that I wouldn't choose him if I had a choice."

Margo sucks in a sharp breath. " _Eliot,_ " she breathes, eyes wide. "Well, that... certainly explains why he was so desperate to save you."

"Yeah," Eliot laughs, harsh and cold, "and why I was so desperate to get back to him. While I was trapped in my own head, I promised myself that if I got out I'd tell him the truth. About how I really feel."

Understanding dawns. "But when you got out, he'd already gotten back with Alice."

Eliot nods, a bitter twist to his mouth. "I told him anyway, but of course I was too late. I'm lucky he didn't just kick me out."

Margo reaches for Eliot's hand, taking it in both of hers. "He would _never_ do that," she says fiercely. "I don't pretend to know everything that goes on in that nerd's head, but I know he fucking loves you, in some way that, honestly, makes a lot more sense now." She searches Eliot's gaze for a long moment before she finally offers, "Do you want to come back to Fillory with me? Get some time away?"

Eliot closes his eyes, lest she see the sudden tears in them. "I don't know," he says, his voice small. "I don't know if I can leave yet."

Margo makes an understanding sort of noise, and then she's pressing in closer, wrapping her arms around Eliot's waist. "I can stay," she murmurs. "Fen and Tick have Fillory in good hands."

Eliot kisses her. "It's okay," he tells her, and he even means it. "I'm okay. I'm just working through some shit. You don't have to stay here for me."

Margo studies his expression for a moment before she leans in for another kiss. "I would, though. If you needed - or even just wanted - me to. You're more important than a crown, no matter how good it looks on me."

"It does look fabulous on you," Eliot concedes. "Even better than it looked on me, and that's saying something. But no. I know you would stay, but I don't need you to."

Margo opens her mouth to say something else, but they're interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Footsteps enter, pause, and then: "Wow, it smells... _really_ good in here."

Eliot fights the urge to spring away from Margo, and even pulls her closer as Alice walks into the kitchen. "Hey," he says, offering her a tight smile. "Hope you're hungry." And then, because he's an idiot: "Where's Q?"

"His mom called as we walked into the lobby," Alice says, giving Eliot a slightly-strained smile. "He told me to go ahead."

Eliot hates himself. "Well, dinner's almost ready," he offers.

Alice nods. "I'll be back down in a bit, I have some things to take care of," she says, gesturing towards the books tucked into the crook of one arm. She turns and leaves - but the door to the apartment opens, making her pause. Eliot and Margo can just barely hear her murmuring to someone, and then Quentin steps around the corner and into view. 

"Oh," he says, blinking. "Hey." His gaze flicks to the spread behind Margo and Eliot, then to them, and to his credit he doesn't flinch when Margo narrows her eyes, but the concern and question is clear when his eyes meet Eliot's. 

Eliot ignores it. "Hey," he says, all false cheer, and steps away from Margo. "I just told Alice dinner will be ready soon, if you're hungry?"

Quentin hesitates for a moment before he nods. "I could eat. You guys seen Penny?"

"Not since yesterday," Eliot tells him. He doesn't shuffle his feet nervously, but it's a near thing. "You need him for something?"

Quentin lifts one shoulder and drops it in a shrug. "Just worried," he says. "I haven't seen him since then, either."

"It's Penny," Eliot says with a shrug. "He's always in and out - literally."

Quentin snorts, but he's smiling, even as he turns around and heads into the living room.

* * *

Margo's departure for Fillory goes with little fanfare, and life... settles, almost, in the wake of it. Kady is still busy with the hedge witches, Penny is... Well, Quentin isn't surprised that he hasn't hung around much after the funeral. He isn't _their_ Penny, harsh as that sounds even in Quentin's head. He made no secret of the fact that his loyalty laid with Julia, and without her... 

Alice is preoccupied with research most days, spending her time with Kady and at the Brakebills library. Quentin hasn't asked what she's been working on, and she hasn't volunteered the information, but they make time for each other when they can. Still, Quentin's days are largely his own, and he spends most of them doing his own research; the idea of being a professor at Brakebills hasn't left his head since Alice brought it up. He does much of his research in his room, but after Margo leaves, he starts doing more of it in the living room, where he and Eliot often end up spending hours in quiet company. 

It's on one such day that Quentin finally broaches a subject that neither of them have touched in almost two weeks. 

"So," Quentin says, when Eliot's come back from the kitchen with yet another can of Coke. "You've been drinking an awful lot of that stuff lately."

Eliot stalls mid-stride like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Yes," he says. "Your observation skills are astounding as always."

Quentin rolls his eyes, but he doesn't look offended. "You never used to."

Eliot starts moving again, and crosses the apartment to drop down onto the sofa at Quentin's side. "Are you really coming for me because I'm _not_ day-drinking?"

The look that Quentin gives Eliot then is supremely unimpressed, though it's ruined somewhat by the way his lips twitch. "Of course not. I'm just saying, I haven't seen you drink, day _or_ night, since..."

Eliot sighs. "I get the feeling that my body was forced to relapse pretty hard while I wasn't in the driver's seat," he says. "So I'm just... trying to deal with that."

Quentin winces. "Yeah. We couldn't always keep an eye on the Monster, and he was... easily bored?" He takes a deep breath. "I actually had to threaten him to get him to take better care of your body. Told him I'd stop helping him and would spend the rest of my life trying to kill him if he killed you."

Eliot looks at him in surprise. "Really?"

Quentin glances up, and the expression on his face is... 'fond' is too light a word, but anything stronger seems too much. "Yeah. It was the only leverage we had, because he'd... latched onto me."

Eliot blinks. "What does that mean?" he asks.

Quentin takes another deep breath. "After the Library took the fountain, we got our memories wiped, and put into new lives. The Monster found me when I was living as Brian, dragged me all over the place. The first thing he said to me was 'I finally found you. Show me a card trick, Quentin.'"

"Well that's horrifically creepy," Eliot says, shuddering.

"That was his brand," Quentin says with a shrug. "We figured out how to keep him under control for the most part, though. For a while."

Eliot winces. "Did he hurt a lot of people?" he asks, though he knows the answer, at least in theory.

"Yes," Quentin says quietly. "Fewer, at the end - until he revived his sister, at least."

Eliot doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. He just looks away.

Quentin hesitates for only a moment before he reaches out and lays his hand on Eliot's arm. "It wasn't you, El."

Eliot smiles, small and tight. "I know," he says. "I don't even remember it. But still."

Quentin's smile is sympathetic, and he scoots closer so that their thighs are pressed together, his hand sliding down to take Eliot's. "I know. I'll tell you it's not your fault as much as you need to hear it."

Eliot squeezes Quentin's hand. "I should be comforting you," he says, rueful.

Quentin huffs out a quiet laugh. "It doesn't have to be one of us comforting the other," he points out. "We can comfort each other at the same time."

"Only if you let me," Eliot counters. "Lay it on me, Coldwater."

Quentin snorts, but he's smiling. The smile quickly disappears as he worries at his lower lip before he finally admits, "I miss her. _So_ much. I keep - I keep wondering if it wouldn't have been better to use the axes, instead of waking up her spark. Would she still be alive?"

As if Eliot didn't hate himself enough already. He squeezes Quentin's hand harder and pulls him in closer against him. "I don't know," he says. "But you can't torture yourself like that. There's no going back now, and she-- She made her choice, Q."

Quentin goes easily, leaning his head against Eliot's shoulder. "That's what I keep telling myself," he murmurs. "That we made our choices. And I... I'm glad we saved you, but that sounds awful, because it feels like I traded Julia's life for yours, and that - " His breath hitches. "That isn't what happened, I know. But that's what it feels like, sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Eliot says, and he means it. "I'd trade places with her if I could."

Quentin laughs, but it's wet. "That wouldn't be _better,_ " he manages to choke out. 

Eliot doesn't beg to differ, but he wants to. "I know," he says instead. "But I still would."

Quentin sniffs, settling more firmly against Eliot's side. "I appreciate the thought," he murmurs, squeezing Eliot's hand. 

Eliot presses his face into Quentin's hair, and takes a deep breath. "If it's bothering you," he says, "me being around, I can-- Margo offered to take me back with her, to Fillory. I'm sure I could still--"

"No!" Quentin jerks back, looking at Eliot with wide eyes. "No, that's - that's not _at all_ \- " He pauses, takes a deep breath of his own, and tries again. "I'm not _bothered_ by you being here, El. If you want to go to Fillory, that's one thing, but you don't need to leave."

"I just don't want to make this harder for you than it has to be," Eliot says, though it makes him feel sick.

" _El,_ " Quentin breathes, pained. "No. You're not - You're not making this _difficult,_ or hard, or painful. I swear."

Eliot studies him for a long moment, prepared to argue, but he capitulates pretty easily. Too easily. "All right," he says. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Quentin says firmly. "If you want to go back to Fillory to spend time with Margo and Fen, or to just be there, okay. But..." Quentin hesitates for a moment before he confesses, "I know it's selfish, but I... want you here. With me."

Eliot's breath catches in his throat. "Whatever you want," he says, hushed.

They just stare at each other for several long moments before the corner of Quentin's mouth quirks. "What I _want_ is for you to be happy. But I don't want you doing something just to try to make me happy if it's not what you want, too."

Eliot knows his smile is too fond. "Trust me," he says, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

Quentin searches Eliot's expression for a moment before he relaxes back into his previous spot. "Alright," he sighs. "I believe you." They lapse into silence for a few minutes, and then Quentin asks, "Seen anything good on TV lately?"

"Um," Eliot says. "I think I saw _Civil War_ the other day. I wouldn't exactly class it as good, though."

Quentin groans, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "Right?" he demands. "Like, they're fucking _adults,_ and also _superheroes!_ They should've fucking talked to each other!"

"It's gay as fuck, though," Eliot adds. "It gained some brownie points for that."

"Only a few," Quentin says grudgingly. "But I think they lost them for the end, where Bucky put himself back in cryo. That's fucked up, he didn't need to do it, and the writers gave a bullshit excuse for it in an interview."

Eliot shrugs the shoulder Quentin isn't lying on. "I don't know," he says. "I kind of get it."

"He was in _the_ most secure country in the entire goddamn world, he didn't need to go into cryo to _punish_ himself with his own trauma," Quentin grumbles. 

"It's not really about that, though, is it?" Eliot says, voice quiet. "He didn't want to hurt anyone, sure. He didn't want to put the people he cared about through having to stop him if he tried. But he also couldn't live with himself, knowing what he'd done. I'd want to escape, too."

Quentin is quiet for a moment before he squeezes Eliot's hand. "You've got a point," he concedes. "But he also had Steve to help him. Hell, he literally went up against an international government to save Bucky."

"You think that makes any sense to him?" Eliot asks. "You think he feels like he's worth that? Because he doesn't. At all."

"Well, Steve feels like he's worth it," Quentin says. "And it's Steve's choice whether to make that effort."

"Just like it's up to Bucky if he can handle that or not," Eliot says.

Quentin considers that for a moment. "That's fair," he concedes, then grins. "I have a trump card, though: Bucky isn't a real person. It's the writers who made the choice, and they said it was to punish him." He sobers then, and shifts until he can look up and meet Eliot's gaze, though he keeps Eliot's hand in his. "You were worth it," he says quietly. "Every bit of effort. I know that sometimes you can't... see the forest for the trees, not feel like you're worth it because you're so stuck in your head."

Eliot looks away, and after a long moment just closes his eyes. "Q," he says. "I can't."

Quentin sighs, settling back against Eliot's side, leaning his head against Eliot's shoulder, into that little space where it fit so well and always felt like - "I know," he murmurs, interrupting his own thoughts. "Believe me, I know."

* * *

Eliot wakes with a start, though for the first few seconds he has no idea why. He's warm, his back is aching in a not-urgent way that suggests he hasn't moved for a few hours, and he has his arms around someone, their body heavy with sleep and their head resting on his chest. It's pretty perfect, actually. But then he becomes aware of exactly two things. One: the person sleeping on him is Quentin. Two: the person looming over them is Alice.

_Shit._

Eliot didn't actually wake up in time to see Alice's creep act the morning after the night before in Quentin's first year, but he heard all about it afterwards. Way afterwards. He knows enough to see the similarities.

He panics.

"Shit," he says aloud, because he's a fucking idiot, and struggles to sit up. "Q."

Quentin wakes with a disgruntled noise, and because his head’s turned towards the back of the couch, he doesn't see Alice right away. "El, what the - " He cuts himself off when he shifts, catches sight of Alice, and then he's fumbling for the back of the couch, pushing himself upright. " _Fuck,_ " he swears when his hand slips and he nearly faceplants into Eliot's chest. "Hey, Alice. What time is it?"

"Nearly six," Alice says coolly. She holds up the bag in her hand. "I brought dinner."

By this point, Quentin's succeeded in getting off of the couch without kneeing Eliot in the crotch - though there was a dangerously close call - and he gives Alice a smile. It's strained, even though he and Eliot were only sleeping. "Oh, great, thanks! From that little place down the street, with the sandwiches?"

"Yes," Alice says. She cuts her icy gaze to Eliot. "I didn't know you'd be home, so I only got enough for two. Sorry."

_Bullshit._ Eliot barely leaves the apartment. He smiles. "It's fine. I'm not hungry anyway."

Quentin glances at Eliot before turning back to Alice. "Great," he says, nodding inanely. "I'm starving, so..." He gestures towards the kitchen, gives Alice a smile. "Let's eat?"

"Sure," Alice agrees. She turns sharply on her heel. "Bye, Eliot."

Eliot just waves and sinks back into the couch. _Fuck._

Quentin shoots Eliot an apologetic look before following Alice; he waits until they're in the kitchen before he steps in closer, keeps his voice low so it doesn't carry and sketches a quick privacy tut. "You need to stop treating Eliot like that."

"Like what?" Alice asks, already unpacking their food. "I genuinely didn't think he'd be here."

"So, the fact that you were just staring at us, waiting for us to wake up, and then sounding like you were trying to freeze him with just your words was all... what, exactly?"

Alice sighs. "Can we not, right now?"

"No, I think we should," Quentin says firmly. "Eliot is my best friend, and we've..." He swallows. "We've got a lot more history than you know about. Can you honestly say you would've acted like _that_ if it had been Kady or Josh that you found me napping with?"

"Can you honestly say that you blame me?" Alice asks, an icy edge to her voice. "You haven't fucked Kady or Josh."

"And I haven't fucked Eliot in a long time," Quentin says, just as chilly. "We made a mistake a long time ago, and we learned from it. But we're both physical with the people we care about, and it's not fair to ask us to stop that. I'm with _you,_ Alice, and I'm not making the same mistakes again. We said we want to be in each other's lives, and I meant that."

Alice gives him a cool, assessing look. "We did," she allows. "But can you honestly tell me there isn't something between you two? Last year was horrible for all of us, but you... You almost lost your mind."

Quentin shifts, leans against the counter of the kitchen island. "I did. And there is something, and it's complicated. But I made my choice to try with _you._ " 

Alice's mouth twists, considering. "All right," she says. "We probably shouldn't talk about this here, anyway.

Quentin sighs, but nods - the living room is less than a dozen feet away, after all, and even a muffling spell has limits - and lets the subject drop.

* * *

Quentin doesn’t exactly _avoid_ Eliot after that, but he does start paying more attention to Alice; admittedly, he had been lacking in that lately. So a few days later, Quentin catches Alice at breakfast, asks if she wants to go out later that day, and they make plans to meet for lunch after Alice and Kady’s meeting with a local hedge witch doctor. The Reed’s Marks are still a major problem for the hedge witches, and without any real contact with the Library, they’re working blind to try to solve the problem of the Marks blocking all tattooed hedge witches’ magic. 

Quentin works on his own research - he’d reached out to Fogg, asked about what was needed to start teaching at Brakebills, and he’s working on covering the gaps in his knowledge before the qualification exam - all morning before he finally heads out. Eliot is in his own room, the door shut, so Quentin sends him a text to let him know he’s heading out. It’s a short walk to where he’s meeting Alice, and they linger for a few moments talking with Kady before they leave.

They stroll down the street hand-in-hand, idly debating where to eat before Quentin finally remembers something he’d seen online. “There’s a cat cafe nearby,” he suggests. “It’s supposed to have pretty good food, called Meow Parlor.”

Alice lights up. "I've wanted to go there for a while!"

Quentin grins. "Yeah? We should go check it out, then."

The cafe, when they reach it, is a good size and cosy, with beds and scratching posts for the cats dotted all around the place. They don't have to wait long for a table, and as soon as they sit down a big fluffy monstrosity jumps right into Alice's lap. A moment later, her hands quite literally disappear into the cat's fur. "I'm in heaven," she says, very seriously.

Quentin grins, offering the back of his hand to another cat that had approached him; the orange feline sniffs his hand before butting against it, sauntering closer before settling next to Quentin and purring like a truck engine. "Same," he agrees, scratching behind his cat's ears, down to the side of their neck. "I always wanted a cat, but Dad was allergic. To cats and dogs, unfortunately. We did have a cockatiel. And lots of fish."

"That's interesting," Alice offers. "Stephanie and Daniel didn't think their lifestyle was suited to pets."

Quentin snorts. "I don't think they were wrong," he says with a smile. "The couple times I saw them, the place was... chaotic."

Alice smiles too, conceding the point with a nod. "I love cats, though," she says, still stroking the one in her lap. "Not as much as horses, but quite a lot."

"Did you ever learn to ride?" Quentin asks, interested. 

"No," Alice says, regretful. "I wish I had, though."

"Maybe that's something you can do now," Quentin suggests. "There's no emergencies, things look pretty stable."

Alice gives him a small smile for that. "Maybe," she allows. "If things don't get busy again, if I take this job."

Quentin smiles, giving his cat another scratch. "I'm going to go up and order; do you know what you want?"

"Oh, just a coffee," Alice says. "And maybe a slice of cake?"

"Sure thing," Quentin says, nodding. He gets himself a couple of macarons and a caramel mocha, waiting for their orders before he returns to the table. He hands Alice her food and drink as he settles back in, the same cat from before curling up against Quentin's thigh. "They had two types of cake, I got a slice of each since they both sounded good."

"We can share," Alice says, laughing as her own purring cat peers curiously over the table at the cake. "If you want?"

Quentin grins. "That sounds like a plan," he agrees. The two of them settle in with their food and their cats, and don't talk for a few minutes. Eventually, Quentin breaks the comfortable silence. "So, I've been... thinking about trying to qualify for teaching at Brakebills."

Alice's expression softens with interest. "Really? What brought that on?"

Quentin shrugs. "It sounded interesting, and I don't know... It kinda just. Appealed to me?" He gives Alice a slightly-crooked smile. "Maybe it's the minor mending, wanting to fix how shitty things have been recently. Have you thought about it any more?"

"Quite a lot," Alice admits. "I think you'd be really good at it, Q."

Quentin flushes. "Well, thanks. What about you? I still think you'd be good at it, and it would give you a place to start with rebuilding the knowledge you lost."

Alice laughs at that, but it's strained. She looks down. "Yeah," she says. "I guess."

"I mean, I also think it would be... nice. Working with you," Quentin says, almost mumbles; he's looking at his own plate, only glancing to the side when his cat bumps his thigh with its head, unhappy with the fact that he'd stopped scratching it. 

"Yeah," Alice agrees, without looking at him. "I mean, it'd be nice to. To see you more."

"Well, you've been busy helping the hedge witches, that's important stuff," Quentin points out. "But... yeah, it would be nice to see each other more, maybe do stuff like this more often?"

Alice looks back up at him, then, and gives him a smile that doesn't look quite right. "Sure, Q."

* * *

Alice and Quentin don't quite manage to find their rhythm again while they're at the cafe, or even after, when they head back to the apartment. Eliot is in his room when they return, and Quentin and Alice quickly go their separate ways, Quentin's mind buzzing with what he might have said or done differently to make things not-so-strained between him and Alice. It's a level of anxiety he hasn't dealt with in a while - hasn't had the spare brain power to even subconsciously feel the worry - and it takes its toll. Quentin doesn't sleep much that night, or the next, and the third night finds him leaving his room at a quarter after midnight in search of a distraction downstairs. 

He decides to make some microwave nachos; he pours some tortillas on a plate, grates some cheese and shreds some leftover rotisserie chicken from the latest grocery run before popping it in the microwave. He doesn't quite manage to catch the microwave before the timer goes off, and he swears quietly as it beeps loudly in the near-silence. He yanks the door open, takes the plate out and shuts the microwave door as he turns - 

Only to nearly drop the plate when he catches sight of Eliot in the soft light from the street lights outside and almost jumps out of his skin. "Jesus _Christ,_ " he hisses, managing to catch the plate before he loses his snack. "Fuck, shit - _ow,_ that's hot." He slides the plate onto the island, glances back up at Eliot and gives him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Eliot gives what Quentin is sure is meant to be a careless shrug, but even in the dim light he can see the searching look Eliot is giving him. "You alerted me to your presence," he says. "I was already awake."

"Oh," Quentin says, hesitating as he gives Eliot his own searching look. "Can't sleep?"

"Not really," Eliot says. He inclines his head. "You?"

"Not really," Quentin echoes with a wry grin. "Want some nachos?"

The ghost of a smile graces Eliot's lips. "Sure," he agrees. "If there's enough."

"I can make another plate, there's still plenty of stuff left," Quentin says, sliding the first plate across the island. "Want to watch _The Masked Singer_ reruns?"

Eliot takes the plate and throws a teasing grin over his shoulder as he turns toward the couch. "I'll get it set up while you're doing that."

Quentin sticks his tongue out at Eliot, but he's smiling as he turns towards the fridge, digging out more chicken and cheese. It only takes a few minutes to get the new plate ready, and this time Quentin's careful to hold it by the edges as he skirts around the island and heads for the living room, settling onto the couch next to Eliot. They don't talk much while they eat, and then their conversation stays focused on the show in front of them for almost two full episodes. It's Quentin who finally broaches the subject of why they'd both been up at midnight. "So, is insomnia your new best friend?"

Eliot laughs at that. "It's not exactly new," he admits. "I don't think I've slept through the night since before Brakebills. Well, except for..." His gaze finds Quentin and then skitters away. "But that's hardly relevant."

Quentin hesitates, but then asks, gently, "So what's worrying you now?"

Eliot ducks his head. "I should be asking you that," he says.

"Anxiety is a bitch, even with medication," Quentin says. "Things are a little weird with Alice, we'll figure it out." He shifts, reaches out so he can wrap an arm around Eliot's shoulders and encourage him to lean into Quentin. "What's going on, El? You only pull that 'I should be' line when there's something bothering you that you think shouldn't be."

Eliot goes easily enough, though it takes him a few seconds to relax fully against Quentin. "Oh, you know," he says lightly, "just the usual. Nightmares. Trauma. Guilt. Boring."

Quentin hums, his thumb sweeping over Eliot's shoulder. "Nightmares suck," he says sagely. "But... You don't have anything to feel guilty about, El. I know that doesn't really help, but."

Eliot laughs, but it's soft. "It doesn't," he admits. "I don't know, Q. I know I couldn't control anything the Monster did, but it was still my fault he got loose anyway. Everything has changed."

Quentin sighs, tilting his head so he can press his lips to the top of Eliot's head. "It has," he murmurs. "But if you want to get _really_ pedantic, it's my fault that we had to go to Blackspire to begin with. I killed Ember, made the Old Gods shut off magic."

Eliot closes his eyes. "I don't want to hear that," he says softly. "You can't blame yourself, Q. We all made shitty choices from day one."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't decided to stick around after taking me to the exam, you wouldn't have been caught up in any of this," Quentin counters.

Eliot twists in his arms then, and turns to give him a look so wounded and - dare he think it - vulnerable that Quentin's breath catches. "Don't say that," he says. "Sticking with you is one of the only good choices I've ever made."

Quentin can't say anything for a long moment, too caught up in Eliot's expression, in what he _wants_ to do - but can't. Eventually, he settles for nervously licking his lips and nodding. "Okay," he whispers. "I won't say that, then. For the record, I think... I think that letting you in was the best choice I made in life, next to letting Julia in when we were six."

"What about Alice?" Eliot asks - and promptly chokes on his next inhale. "I mean-- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you - " Quentin stops, takes a breath. "She's important to me, but... I didn't spend fifty years with her. And we're figuring out if we want to, so I don't - It's still complicated. But that doesn't erase the fact that you're both important to me, I just... have been friends with you for longer."

"Right," Eliot says. His gaze flickers down to Quentin's mouth, just for an instant, and then he turns again, settling himself back into Quentin's side. The lines of his body are more tense than they were before, but at least he hasn't pulled away. "I'm really glad we're still friends, Q."

Quentin lets out a slow breath before he relaxes under Eliot, wraps his arm around Eliot's shoulders once more. "Me, too."

* * *

Things stay in a limbo for the next couple of days, until the day Quentin's mom is in the city and wants to spend the day with him. Quentin's in a rush to get out the door since she texted him last minute, and he is nearly out when Eliot taps him on the shoulder, Quentin's phone in his hand. 

Quentin jumps at the unexpected touch, shoulders tense - but he relaxes with a laugh, thanking Eliot as he takes his phone, pats down his pockets one last time, and darts out the door. Alice waits until he's been gone long enough that he probably won't be coming back before she clears her throat, catching Eliot's attention. "You really should stop sneaking up on him like that."

Eliot gives her a strange look. "It's not like I do it on purpose," he says. "He's just jumpy."

"He doesn't jump like that when anyone else touches him without warning," Alice points out. "I know you know what a 'jumpy' Q looks like."

Eliot feels a shadow pass over his face, and he tightens his jaw. She's not wrong. "What are you saying?"

"Do the math, Eliot," Alice says sharply. "You're the only one who makes him jump like that - and he spent plenty of time with the rest of us before Julia died."

"Look," Eliot says, walking towards her. "Either spell it out for me or stop talking. This isn't helping anyone."

"The _Monster,_ Eliot. He fixated on Quentin, dragged him all over the world when he first found him and made him do - a lot of things. Broke his arm once when he tried to stand up to him," she snaps. "And then he nearly strangled Quentin when Quentin told him to take care of your body or Quentin would stop helping him. He never walked anywhere if he could teleport, and he was absolutely silent while doing so. We never knew when he was going to pop back in on us, and half the time he announced his presence by grabbing Q."

Eliot actually reels back. "He-- What?" He thinks he's going to be sick. "He didn't tell me. He said the Monster didn't target our friends."

Alice's expression softens minutely. "To be fair, he didn't. He targeted Q. He didn't care much about the rest of us."

"I didn't know," Eliot insists. " _Fuck_. I swear."

"Yeah," Alice sighs. "I'm not surprised that Quentin didn't tell you. But now you _do_ know."

"I'll be more careful," Eliot promises. He sounds hollow. He _feels_ hollow. "The last thing I want is to make this worse for him."

"I know," Alice says, and she even sounds genuine. 

Eliot doesn't flee, exactly, but he takes his leave of the room before long.

* * *

Alice is sitting on the couch when Quentin gets home, no one else in sight, and he's sure it's just lingering paranoia and anxiety that makes him feel like she's waiting for him. She smiles. "Hey," she says. "How did it go?"

"Good," Quentin answers. "We wandered around, caught a movie, talked. Where... is everyone else?"

"Kady and Penny are out," Alice tells him, "and Eliot is... in his room." She takes a breath, pushes her hair over her shoulder. "Did you want to order dinner or something?"

Quentin hesitates for a moment. "Yeah, sure. Is... everything okay?"

"Yeah," Alice says. She hesitates too, and glances towards Eliot's closed door. "I think he just needs some space. Everything's fine."

Quentin follows her gaze, and doesn't look away from the door as he asks, "How long has he been in there?"

A beat. "Since just after you left," Alice admits.

Quentin's gaze snaps back to Alice, his eyes wide. "All _day?_ " he asks, incredulous. 

Alice holds her ground. "He has some stuff to work through," she says. "We... had a chat."

There's a sinking feeling in Quentin's chest. "About what, Alice?"

"About the fact that he keeps creeping up on you and scaring the shit out of you," Alice says. "Look, Q, I didn't do it maliciously, but you need a break. And he deserves to know."

"You _told him?_ " Quentin demands. "He wasn't 'scaring the shit' out of me, Alice! He startled me a couple times, but - " He shakes his head, turns towards Eliot's door. "I'm going to go talk to him."

Alice is on her feet between one breath and the next. "Don't," she says. "Just leave him. He needs to process, and he'll be able to be more careful now."

The look Quentin gives Alice isn't quite a glare, but it's certainly hard. "He's not processing, he's in there beating the hell out of himself in misplaced guilt," he says flatly. "I didn't tell him about what the Monster did because I knew how he'd react, and because I was _handling it._ "

"You were not _handling it_ ," Alice insists. "And what makes you the leading Eliot expert?"

"The fact that I've spent more time with him than anyone else," Quentin snaps. "I know what he's like, Alice. I lived with him for - a long time."

Alice just stares at him for a long moment - and then she sighs. "Do what you want," she says. "But you're going to have to stop babying him eventually."

Quentin doesn’t bother answering - isn’t even sure how he _could_ answer without giving away far more than he means to - before he turns away, striding across the living room. He’s not surprised to find the door locked, and when Eliot doesn’t answer his knock, Quentin sighs and rolls his fingers into what he still thinks of as the _alohomora_ tut. The lock resists briefly before turning, and Quentin lets himself into the room. “Hey,” he says quietly, shutting the door behind himself. “Alice said you’d been in here most of the day.”

"Migraine," says the lump in the middle of the bed. "I really don't feel well, Q, so if you don't mind..."

Quentin rolls his eyes, leaning against the door. "That 'migraine' wouldn't happen to have been triggered by your talk with Alice, would it?"

The lump sighs. "Let's not go there."

"No, let's," Quentin says, stepping away from the door and coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "You're in here feeling guilty and beating yourself up over not realizing something that I was trying to _keep_ you from realizing, aren't you?"

"You shouldn't have been trying to keep _anything_ from me," Eliot snaps, finally sitting up. Even in the darkness of the room Quentin can see his hair is wild and curly, his gaze burning. "Asshole. How am I supposed to deal with what happened if I don't know the whole story?"

"This was my part of the story to deal with," Quentin counters, refusing to back down. 

"I've been _hurting you_ ," Eliot snaps. "And you're shitty at hiding it, because I've been able to see it the whole time, I just didn't know _why_."

"You haven't been hurting me," Quentin says, exasperated. "Okay, fine, you startled me sometimes because the Monster was a massive dick to me for _months,_ but I know it's you, El, not him."

"Except for those split seconds where whatever I've done takes you right back to being his prisoner," Eliot says. He sounds desperate. "Fuck, I shouldn't even be around you."

"It's been getting better," Quentin insists. "This shit doesn't just _go away,_ not after only a couple of months."

Eliot glares at him, but it's weak. "Of course it doesn't," he says. "But that doesn't change the fact that I've been making it worse."

Quentin sighs, reaches for Eliot's hand and takes it in both of his. "Listen to me, El: You've made things _so much better_ for me, okay? Yeah, sometimes if you catch me off-guard I have a split second of panic, but that's gotten easier to control and get out of, and it's happening less, because I know it's you, not the Monster."

Eliot holds on tight, but sets his jaw. "You should have told me," he says.

Quentin sighs. "I don't regret not telling you," he says firmly. "You were already dealing with everything else, and you already felt so guilty... I knew you'd feel even more guilty."

"Well how do you think I feel now?"

"Point," Quentin concedes with another sigh. He squeezes Eliot's hand in his. "I just wanted to protect you."

Eliot lets out a shaky breath, and pulls their hands toward him so he can brush his lips against Quentin's knuckles. "I want to protect you," he says. "You need to let me."

"You can't _always_ be the one protecting me," Quentin protests, but it's quiet, fond. "I need to protect you, sometimes. You're not fucking Atlas, El. You don't need to take the world on your shoulders."

Eliot huffs. "Why can't we protect each other?" he asks. "That's what friends do, right?"

Quentin's laughs quietly, squeezing Eliot's hand again. "Alright. But that means we have to listen to each other, you know that, right? About when we need to be protected and when we're fine."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Disagree. By now I know you far better than you know yourself."

That makes Quentin laugh. "Well, I know _you_ just as well, you know. And I know when you've holed yourself up like this, it's dangerous to leave you alone. So come on, budge over, make some room."

But Eliot shies away. "No," he says. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you really need to go back out there to Alice."

Quentin pauses. "Why?"

"Because she's your girlfriend," Eliot says, with infinite patience.

"She's not the one who needs me right now," Quentin says. "And we... had a bit of a fight, over her telling you about what the Monster did, before I came in here."

Eliot winces. "Don't fight with her because of me," he says. "It's fine. Honestly. Go make up with her."

"We didn't have a fight _because_ of you,” Quentin says quietly. “We had a fight because Alice meddled in something that was between you and me. Honestly, I'm still kind of mad about it, and if I go out there, we're going to have a bigger fight."

Eliot sighs. "And what are you going to do if you stay here?"

"Comfort my best friend and myself," Quentin says with a slight smile before he sobers. "She'll probably be a bit huffy about it, but... I've tried explaining every way I can, short of telling her everything about the mosaic. She just - She doesn't understand. I don't think she's even trying to, now. So I'll deal with whatever her reaction is later."

Eliot shakes his head. "I honestly don't even know what to say," he says. "Do you want to tell her about the mosaic?"

Quentin shrugs. "I don't know. It could go either way with her, either help her understand or make her mad."

Something unreadable passes over Eliot's face, but he doesn't pursue the subject further. "Well," he says, "if you're staying you should probably make yourself comfortable."

Quentin laughs quietly. "Alright, move over then, let me get under the blankets."

"I was a perfectly happy blanket burrito before you came in," Eliot tells him archly, but he shuffles over to make room all the same.

"Sure you were," Quentin hums, finally letting go of Eliot's hand so that he can shift on the bed, sliding under the covers. "Now you can be an extra-comfy blanket burrito."

Eliot just huffs and arranges them both to his liking, until he can rest his head on Quentin's shoulder and tuck the rest of himself up close against Quentin's body. It takes a second, but Quentin's arms come around him at last, and he closes his eyes. "You're going to get into so much trouble if Alice walks in," he says mildly.

"I've already talked with her about me being physical with my friends," Quentin murmurs, arms tightening around Eliot briefly. 

"This isn't really the same, though, is it?" Eliot asks, very quietly.

Quentin doesn't answer for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is no louder than Eliot's. "Not exactly," he admits. "But... the alternative is not to touch you at all, and that's - that's worse."

Eliot shivers against Quentin. "Is it?"

"Yes," Quentin says, firm despite the fact that it's a whisper. "If I can't touch you... I don't know it's _you._ "

Eliot snakes an arm around Quentin's waist. "I'm right here," he murmurs. "I swear it."

Quentin presses his lips to the crown of Eliot's head, and doesn't say anything else. 

* * *

When Quentin leaves Eliot's room the next morning, it's very clear that Alice is waiting for him this time. "Good morning," she says stiffly, her arms crossed and her expression sour.

Quentin bites back a sigh, gives Alice a nod instead. "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Quentin says, then takes a deep breath. "Look, you've obviously got something on your mind, so."

"Yes," Alice says. She gives the space on the couch beside her a single pat. "We need to talk."

Quentin doesn't hesitate, just nods and moves closer, sitting where indicated. He takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment before he says, somewhat wryly, "We need to talk about us, don't we?"

"Sort of," Alice says. She turns to face him. "It's not about last night, before you get all defensive. It's about the job Fogg offered me."

Quentin frowns slightly, in the way that means he's listening intently. "Okay."

"I'm not going to take it," Alice says, without preamble. "Someone from the Library has approached me and asked me to run it. I'm going to say yes."

Quentin blinks. "To run... the whole Library?"

Alice nods. "Yes. It needs someone to build it back up, after everything that happened. They think I'm a good choice, and so do I. And, well." She flickers her gaze away from him and then back to his face. "You said it yourself. I need some way to start collecting back the knowledge I lost."

Quentin bites his lip for a moment before he smiles, small and slightly uncertain. "Yeah. I think... I mean, as long as you don't try to make yourself into a god and attempt to commit genocide you'll be a pretty damn big improvement over the last Head Librarian." Zelda had gotten in touch with Kady after everything with the Monster and his sister went down, told him that the Library had tried and convicted Everrett, giving him his own Reed's Mark before kicking him out of the Library, magic-less. 

Alice smiles, shrugs. "That's not my intention," she says.

"Well, then..." Quentin takes another breath, and his smile this time is steadier, a little bit bigger. "Honestly, I think running the Library will suit you better than being a professor."

"I hope so," Alice says. She looks down at her hands. "But it's very different to working at Brakebills. It's going to change a lot."

Quentin nods. "It will. We're not really gonna be on the same planet much, are we?"

Alice shakes her head. "Literally and figuratively."

Quentin's grin is wry, and maybe a little resigned, as he asks, "This is the part of the conversation where we break up, isn't it?"

Alice doesn't disagree. "It's been going this way for a while," she says, "don't you think?"

"No, it - You're not wrong," he concedes. "Things have just been... okay."

"Not great," Alice agrees. "Not the way it should be."

"No," Quentin sighs. "Not like it should be. Not if we're going to such - such different places."

"I'm sorry, Q," Alice says. "For what it's worth. I really wanted this to work."

"I know," Quentin says. He hesitates for a moment before he reaches out, touches the back of Alice's hand lightly. "I really thought we _could_ make it work."

Alice allows it for a second before she pulls away. "But we can't," she says. "So we're better cutting our losses now, before either of us gets hurt. Can I just ask one thing?"

"Sure," Quentin says, his tone making it clear he has no idea where Alice is going with this. 

Alice bites her lip. "Can you maybe not jump into bed with Eliot right away? Give me a grace period, or something."

Quentin blinks, his mouth dropping open. "I - _What?_ "

"I'm not stupid, Quentin," Alice says tersely. "I know you have feelings for him, and I'm pretty sure he has feelings for you. I'm just asking you to show me a little respect."

"No, I mean - Why would I jump right into bed with him? That's just - " Quentin just looks at her, flabbergasted. 

Alice doesn't shy away from his gaze. "You fucked him while we were still together, once."

Quentin holds her gaze, but he swallows, and his expression turns regretful. "Okay, point," he says. "That... was wrong. But I wouldn't - I _won't_ jump into a relationship with him right away. I don't even know if it would work for us in this life."

Alice narrows her gaze. "What does that mean?"

Quentin freezes, but he's already opened the can of worms. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "During the quest for the keys, Eliot and I went after the Time Key together. It was in Fillory, in the past, and locked behind a mosaic that needed to be solved by showing the beauty of all life." He bites his lip briefly before continuing. "We spent fifty years there. Together. We had a family together, and our life solved the mosaic. Time magic bullshit happened and Margo stopped us from going in the first place, but, somehow, we remembered it. I... asked him to give it - us - a shot, and he told me I was too straight for him in this life, and then acted like nothing happened."

Alice just stares at him. "I don't know which question I want to ask more," she says. "'Why did you even bother asking me to try again?', or 'Why the hell are you still in love with him?'"

"Because he shut me down pretty thoroughly, and I compartmentalized," Quentin says, but he sounds... tired, maybe, gaze dropping to his knees. "I made myself forget about it, shove it away, and when you and I had that conversation, when we decided to try again, I had no idea if our plan would work. Even if it did, I figured he'd go back to Fillory with Margo. And then he..." Quentin's breath catches, and he makes himself look back up at Alice. "The day after... everything... he told me he loved me. That he regretted everything, but - I'd just lost Julia, and I'd already decided to try again with _you,_ and I wasn't even sure if I was still in love with him when the world wasn't about to come crashing down around us or be burned down by the fucking Monster."

"But you are," Alice says, and it's not a question. "Anyone can see it, really."

And Quentin... doesn't have an answer to that. He shrugs one shoulder, settles on, "It was... complicated. But I wanted to try with you."

"Well, we tried," Alice says. She smiles. "It's okay that we failed. But I meant it when I said I still want to be in your life."

"So did I," Quentin assures her with a smile. "I guess now we figure out where we fit in as friends?"

"We'll work it out," Alice says. "I think we just need some time."

Quentin laughs quietly. "Well, we've finally got plenty of that."

* * *

Alice leaves shortly after that to meet with the representative from the Library so that she can officially give her answer. The apartment is quiet, and Quentin makes himself a simple breakfast before settling in with his laptop at the kitchen island and working on replying to some emails and then browsing YouTube aimlessly. He's just started a video with home improvement tips for first time homeowners - the result of a rabbit hole from a 5-Minute Crafts video - when Eliot's bedroom door opens, and Eliot himself shuffles out. His hair is mussed, like he only just woke up, and he's wrapped in a ridiculously-soft-looking robe. Quentin doesn't say anything until Eliot's reached the kitchen, and even then it's just a quiet, "Morning. Technically. You want breakfast?"

Eliot shakes his head, his messy curls falling into his face. "No thanks," he says. "I think I've gone past hungry."

Quentin hums, sympathetic. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll live," Eliot says. He sits down. "Are you okay?"

"I think so, considering." Quentin gives Eliot a small smile. "Alice and I talked, and we broke up."

Eliot visibly starts, and he looks up. "What?"

Quentin sighs. "It was a conversation we needed to have. We weren't working, and - she was asked to take over the Library. We wanted to make things work between us, but our priorities were too... different."

"Is this because of me?" Eliot asks. "Because of last night?"

" _No,_ " Quentin says emphatically. "It wasn't because of you, El. Things just - We went on dates, spent time together, but it never felt more than just 'okay.'" He hesitates, takes a breath. "She did... ask for a grace period. Before I 'jumped into bed' with you. We talked about that, too, and I ended up telling her about the mosaic."

"Fuck," Eliot says. He passes a hand over his face. "Okay. That's... a lot."

Quentin laughs, but it's distinctly lacking in any trace of real humor. "How do you think I feel? She asked me why I even bothered trying with her if I was in love with you, with all that history, and I had to tell her the truth. That I didn't know if I was, because I basically ignored it after we remembered, and I thought _you_ weren't in love with me, that you'd just go back to Fillory if we managed to save you." He shrugs one shoulder, can't quite look at Eliot as he finishes with, "She said it was obvious, though. That we loved each other. Anyone looking could see it."

Eliot laughs too, a desperate, strangled sound. "Fuck," he says again. "Okay. Maybe we should apply the brakes here."

"Yeah," Quentin says, fussing with his phone to give himself an outlet for the sudden spike of nervous energy. "I mean - I wasn't trying to start anything, that all just. Kinda came out? But that's - " He makes himself pause, take a deep breath. "I think we should hit the brakes. I just... wanted to, I don't know, let you know what was going on, I guess?"

Eliot gives him a strained smile. "Thank you," he says. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I think maybe I should take Margo up on her offer."

Quentin blinks, thrown. "To... go to Fillory?"

Eliot nods. "It might be a good idea for us to get some space right now."

Quentin considers that for a moment; his first instinct is to say no, to insist that Eliot stays here, where Quentin _knows_ that he's safe - but... Eliot isn't wrong. It hurts to admit, but it's the truth nonetheless. "I - I think you might be right," he says quietly, glancing back down at his phone, still sliding between his fingers in an anxious, nonsense pattern. 

If Eliot is surprised by Quentin's easy acquiescence, he doesn't let it show. "I'll send word to Margo, and I'll leave tonight," he says.

Quentin bites his lip, tongue darting out to soothe the sting as he looks up. "Okay," he says quietly. "I - You'll stay in touch? Just... to let us know everything's okay."

"Of course," Eliot says, his expression gentle. "And if you need anything, you just need to let me know."

"I will," Quentin promises. His own smile is fond, genuine, if a little sad, maybe wistful. 

* * *

Eliot is beyond relieved to find Margo waiting for him when he arrives in Fillory, and he all but falls into her arms. "Bambi," he sighs, nosing his way into the comforting, familiar scent of her hair. "Thank god."

Margo doesn't say anything for a long moment, but the way her arms tighten around Eliot's waist and shoulder, how she presses in close, tells Eliot everything he needs to know. "I missed you," Margo finally confesses, barely more than a murmur. "It took you long enough to come back, you dick."

"I missed you, too," Eliot assures her. "I'm sorry. I thought I needed to stay there, but I was so wrong."

Margo finally pulls back at that, just far enough to tilt her head and look at Eliot with a concerned frown. "What happened?"

"I fucked everything up," Eliot admits. "Alice broke up with Q."

"What? Why?" Margo demands. "And why do you think you fucked everything up?"

"I couldn't stay away from him," Eliot says. He looks so ashamed. "I _needed_ him, and because I was there when he was hurting, he thought he needed me, too. Even though I was the reason he was hurting, by the way," he adds with a dark look. "Thanks for not telling me what the Monster did to him; very helpful. And Alice has this fancy new job with the Library, I don't know, and she thinks Quentin's in love with me, so she left."

Margo has the grace to look chagrined for a moment before she frowns again. "He _is_ in love with you, anyone can see it," she says. "And he and Alice never worked before, I never understood why they thought they would this time. But, baby - you do need each other. I'm still the most important person in your life, obviously, but... I can admit that you're important to each other. The way he stood up to the Monster kind of said it all, really. And the way he insisted we never even consider any plan where your body died."

But Eliot shakes his head. "I know we're important to each other, I know we're meant to be in each other's lives - but Bambi. I told him after we remembered the mosaic that he wouldn't choose me when he had other options - Alice-shaped options. I wasn't wrong. After the Monster was gone I told him everything, and he chose her."

"He chose her before you came back," Margo reminds him. "And you know Quentin. He sees his decisions through to the end." A thought occurs to her then, and her frown deepens. "Did he kick you out over their break-up? Because if he did, I don't care if you're in love with him, I _will_ rip his balls off."

"No," Eliot is quick to reassure her. "I left. I didn't want him to feel like he had to start something with me just because Alice removed herself from the picture, and I… I need time to think."

Margo studies him intently for a moment before her expression gentles. "Think about what?"

Eliot sighs. "I don't even know," he says. "I just need us both to be able to think rationally about this. Part of me just wants to jump him, but the rest of me..." He looks at her, imploring. "I destroy everything I touch, Bambi. Should I even be near him? I don't know."

"You do _not_ destroy everything you touch," Margo says firmly. "But... It _might_ be time for us to start acting like adults about major life decisions like this." She looks disgusted by the mere thought. 

Eliot shudders. "I just think we both need some space, that's all," he says. "When he's ready, we'll talk about it - and in the meantime, I'm all yours."

"Perfect." Margo shifts, turns so she can link her arm with Eliot's and lead the way to the waiting carriage. "I love Fen, and she's a good ruler, but _god_ I just need my best bitch for a while."

Eliot laughs warmly. "Come on, then," he sighs. "Tell me everything I've missed."

* * *

Eliot spends three months in Fillory before Quentin contacts him. It hasn't been total radio silence between them, but they've sent two rabbits to each other, one from Eliot to let Quentin know he had arrived safely and was settling in, and one from Quentin to let him know that he was starting his new job at Brakebills. That was a month ago, and Eliot's answering rabbit wishing him luck went ignored. Eliot's been trying not to think about it, except for how he can think about little else. He's spent all of his time with Margo and Fen, and has even dropped in on Fray a couple of times, but he's not a king anymore and there's very little to _do_ , so he's been wallowing. Some. Whenever he can get away from Margo long enough.

But then another rabbit comes, just pops right out of thin air onto Eliot's bed late one night when he can't sleep, and offers him all of his wildest dreams - or most terrifying nightmares - on a silver platter.

_YOU EVER COMING HOME?_

"Holy shit," Eliot whispers, his heart in his mouth. It's undoubtedly from Quentin. He doesn't know exactly what he's been waiting for, what sign he needs to end this self-imposed exile, but this very seriously could be it. "Okay. Um. Tell him: 'I could be persuaded'. Yes. Go. Now."

The bunny vanishes, and Eliot scrambles out of bed. He needs to find Margo.

He finds Margo in her rooms, sitting up poring over an ancient treaty. She looks up when Eliot enters, frown immediately clearing into something more concerned as she demands, "Where's the fire?"

"Q," Eliot says, breathless. "He sent a rabbit. I think he wants me to go back."

Margo's eyes widen. "What did he say? What did _you_ say?"

"He asked if I'm ever coming home," Eliot says. "I asked if he wanted to persuade me."

Margo's gaze sharpens. "He used the word 'home'?"

Eliot doesn't blush easily, but he knows a flush is rising on his cheeks now. "Yes," he says. "Do you think it means--"

Another rabbit appears, dropping to Margo's bedspread between them and interrupting Eliot. 

_I MISS YOU. READY TO TALK?_

Eliot's knees threaten to buckle. " _Fuck_."

Margo glances from the rabbit to Eliot, eyebrow raised. "I think it does mean. The fuck are you still doing here?"

"I can't go right now!" Eliot argues, while the rabbit blinks at him impatiently. "How pathetic does it look if I run right to him?"

"You've been here three months," Margo reminds him. "And if you don't go now, you'll talk yourself into staying for another three. I love you, El, but frankly the pining is getting a little ridiculous. If he breaks your heart again, I'll pick you up and throw him in the Hudson on our way back here."

"I adore you," Eliot tells her, and then he turns to the rabbit. "Tell Quentin I'm on my way."

The rabbit obligingly disappears, and Margo gives Eliot an indulgent smile. "Now, get the fuck out of here and go get your nerd."

* * *

Quentin is in the middle of fussing with the perfectly-cleaned living room, trying to work out some nervous energy, when there's a knock on the front door. The rabbit which had brought Eliot's last message is long gone, and although he was the one to send the first rabbit, Quentin is still extremely nervous. It's been months since he and Eliot have seen each other, and as far as he could tell through a quick spell, time has been synced fairly evenly across Fillory and Earth for once. That doesn't really help with his nervousness, though it does help reassure him that maybe it really is time for this conversation. 

Shaking himself out of his head, Quentin makes himself walk - not run - to the door, pausing for only a moment with his hand on the knob to take a deep breath before he opens the door. 

It's a good thing Quentin took that breath, because the moment he sees Eliot, it feels like all of the air is knocked from his lungs, and Quentin can't help the grin that immediately takes over his expression. "Hey," he says, quiet and far too fond, still grinning dopily. "Long time no see."

Eliot grins back. "I missed you," he says. "Can I have a hug?"

" _Fuck_ yes," Quentin says, darting forward and wrapping his arms around Eliot's shoulders, pressing his face to the crook of Eliot's neck and just - just _breathing,_ letting himself take in the reality of Eliot here, in front of him. 

Eliot seems to be doing the same thing, if the way he wraps Quentin up tight in his arms and goes completely boneless against him is any indication. But he's the one to pull away, and far too soon. "Shall we go inside?" he asks, voice as soft as his smile.

"Yeah," Quentin says, stepping hastily out of the doorway, giving Eliot room to move into the apartment. "Kady is on shift tonight, she'll be gone until nine o'clock or so tomorrow morning, and then she'll probably be dead on her feet. So, y'know, we've got the place to ourselves for tonight, lots of time to talk."

Eliot nods as he follows Quentin inside. He looks around for a moment, though very little has changed about the place since he left - but then he asks, "And where's Penny? Alice?", and Quentin understands.

"Penny is... wherever the fuck he wants to be," Quentin says. "He stops by every so often, but he doesn't stay long. Alice moved to the Neitherlands, since she's basically rebuilding the Library from the ground up."

Eliot doesn't do anything so dramatic as to visibly deflate, but his face does do something quite interesting. "Ah," he says. "Makes sense."

Quentin nods, the movement slightly too fast. "So, are you - back for a while, just staying for a visit before you go back to Fillory, or...?"

Eliot sighs, moves through the apartment until he can sink onto the couch. "I don't know," he says. "I guess that depends."

Quentin follows, though he sits on the armchair. "On?"

"On how this conversation goes."

Quentin huffs, but he's smiling. "Yeah, that's - that's fair. So..." He pauses, licks his lips, and confesses, "I _really_ missed you, but I also think it was for the best, taking some time apart."

Eliot nods. "Me too," he says. "We both needed some time to think."

"Yeah. I did... a lot of that." Quentin laughs quietly, continuing, "And I... figured a lot of things out. Put things in order, put words to them, however you wanna say it."

"Do you want to?" Eliot asks. "Say it?"

"I do," Quentin says, meeting Eliot's gaze evenly. There's only a slight tremor in his voice as he says, "I'm in love with you."

" _Oh,_ " Eliot sighs. He closes his eyes briefly. "I'm in love with you. But then, you already knew that."

"I did," Quentin agrees. "But I needed to... sort through everything I felt after Alice and I broke up. Needed to make sure what I was feeling was really... real, and not just for that life we had together."

Eliot nods. "Honestly, if you tell me that you're only in love with Mosaic Me I think I'll pass out."

Quentin laughs at that. "No, it - I was worried that might be it? But it's not, I swear. I love _you,_ not the guy some other version of me spent fifty years with."

Eliot gives him a tender look. "Me too," he says. "For the record. I know I've made a lot of mistakes, before and after the mosaic. Hell, even during. And I've given you a lot of reason to doubt me. But I'm fucking crazy about you, Q."

Quentin's smile is small and pleased, his cheeks heating as his gaze drops for a moment before he looks back up at Eliot. "So far, so good?"

"I think so," Eliot says. He smiles back. "We're being very mature."

Quentin laughs. "I know, it's not like us at all," he jokes. 

Quentin's laughter warms something in Eliot's chest, and a whisper of memory comes to him from what feels like so long ago. _I'm ready to be brave now._ He takes a breath. "Okay," he says. "I'm about to make myself incredibly emotionally vulnerable, so brace yourself. I... want to be with you. Whatever that looks like for you - if you want it to look like anything. I've fucked up a lot, I've spent far too much time pushing you away and pretending that I can live without you, and it's all bullshit, Q. I love you. I want us to be together."

Quentin's eyes widen when Eliot first speaks, but by the end he's biting his lip, glancing down at where his hands are clutched together. He takes a breath of his own before he speaks, trying to marshal his thoughts. "I want that, too," he says first, because it's true and also the most important thing of what he's about to say. "But - after we remembered, you said that it wasn't either of us, and I know..." He takes another breath. "You have a - a complicated history with relationships, I know, but that's what I want. I'm all in on this, El. On us. I want to hold your hand on walks in the park, I want to be able to just sit on your lap or next to you and fall asleep against you without worrying about what anyone else might think, and I want to introduce you to my mom as my boyfriend, my partner."

Eliot winces. "I deserve that," he says. "I deserve a lot more than that, actually. But you're right. It's not me - or, it wasn't me, the me I spent years building up after I left Indiana. That me fucked around and broke hearts and didn't give a shit. That me was terrified at the thought of someone growing an attachment and actively tried to discourage that. But... that me was fake? It was what I needed at the time, but now." He shakes his head. "I don't know how to explain it. I swear that I want all of that, too. I've never felt this strongly about anyone except Margo, and I-- This is different. Of course I would choose you. I'll choose you every fucking day if you'll let me."

Quentin searches Eliot's gaze intently, does his best to ignore the way his pulse thunders in his ears. "You would?"

"Quentin," Eliot says, his eyes wide and serious. "Every _fucking_ day."

Quentin licks his lips. "Prove it," he whispers, his gaze never breaking away from Eliot's. 

Eliot is on his feet and across the room in a heartbeat, and in the next he has his hands on Quentin's face, tilting his head back and bending to meet him. He takes a moment to just look at Quentin, to marvel that maybe, just maybe, he gets to have this again. When he kisses him, it's electric.

Quentin kisses back like he's been waiting for this moment for years - and it feels like he has. He stands, presses in close, one hand sliding up Eliot's chest to curve over his shoulder, the other reaching to tangle his fingers in Eliot's hair, pull him impossibly closer as the kiss lingers, ebbing and flowing like the tide until they finally have to pull apart or risk passing out from lack of oxygen. " _God,_ I've missed you," Quentin murmurs. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Eliot whispers. His eyes are still closed, like he can't bear to look lest this all be an illusion. "I've been such an idiot. I'm so sorry, Q."

”I was kind of an idiot, too,” Quentin says quietly, leaning in for another soft kiss. “We’ll probably be idiots again in the future. But I think this ‘talking’ thing is working out pretty well for us.”

"We need to get better at it, though," Eliot says seriously. "This took us far too long."

"We were on different planets," Quentin points out. "Without cell phones. Or Internet." He smiles, shifts until he can take Eliot's hand in his own, twining their fingers together. "I think we'll do better on time from now on."

Eliot smiles back, and squeezes Quentin's hand. "Just promise we won't give up on each other."

"Never," Quentin swears, tugging Eliot in for another kiss. 

* * *

It's already late, and after such an emotionally-charged conversation, neither of them feels like staying on their feet for any longer. Quentin helps Eliot bring his bags into his old room, and without speaking about it, they climb into bed together. Neither of them are wearing shirts, or pants, but their underwear stays on. It's enough for now, being able to curl together under the sheets, feel their skin on each other's as they tangle themselves together so thoroughly neither can tell where the other ends. 

They fall asleep easily, and when Quentin wakes, it's clearly mid-morning, judging by the light coming through the curtains. Eliot is still asleep in his arms, and Quentin smiles, takes a long moment to marvel that they're finally _here,_ together, before he shifts, leaning in to kiss Eliot awake. 

Eliot wakes slowly, but when he does it's with a smile, and a charming eagerness to kiss Quentin back despite still being sleepy and vaguely uncoordinated. It's something Quentin didn't realise he remembered from the mosaic until this very moment. He doesn't get long to dwell on it, though, because Eliot has curled a hand around Quentin's neck and found his lips again, and this kiss is slow and sweet. "Mmm," Eliot sighs as they part. "Good morning."

"Very good," Quentin agrees with a pleased hum, kissing Eliot again. "Best morning."

"Indeed," Eliot says. He gives him a boyish smile. "Hi."

"Hi," Quentin whispers back, unable to resist curving his hand over Eliot's waist, thumb sweeping over the sleep-warm skin as he scoots closer. "I think that's the best I've slept in a long time."

"Me too," Eliot admits. He brushes Quentin's cheek with his thumb. "Still can't quite believe this is real."

Quentin knows his smile is far too soft as he ducks in, presses another kiss to the corner of Eliot's mouth - and then his hand darts down, lower, and gives Eliot's ass a pinch through the fabric covering it. "Did that feel real?" he asks, aiming for innocent and missing by a mile. 

Eliot makes an appreciative sound and presses closer. "I don't know," he says. "Maybe we should test it further."

Quentin laughs quietly, his hand shifting so that his palm is spread over Eliot's ass, rubbing over the spot he pinched as he seeks out Eliot's mouth for a proper kiss. "Maybe," he hums, "but I'm also fucking starving. I could barely eat last night, my stomach was in knots."

Eliot grumbles, but he only steals one more kiss before he rolls away. "I can't even complain about that, because it's my fault," he huffs. "All right, let's feed you. I'll cook."

Quentin gives Eliot a beaming smile as he slides out of bed, grabbing his sweatpants off of the floor and tugging them on. "I've missed your cooking," he says. "I think we have stuff for waffles? Unless Kady ate a shitload of them since the last time I went grocery shopping."

"Your wish is my command, my love," Eliot vows. He summons a robe from amongst his things and slips it on, tying it loosely about his waist. "Shall we?"

Quentin comes around the bed, reaching for Eliot's hand and squeezing once it's in his. "Let's."

Eliot can't quite resist tugging Quentin to him, sliding a hand into his hair and bringing their mouths together for one last lingering kiss - except, it's not really the last.

By the time they actually leave the bedroom, they're still struggling to keep their hands off each other, and they're laughing. Eliot doesn't think he'll ever get enough of Quentin's laughter. He's pulling Quentin back to him, wondering if he really is as hungry as he says, or if maybe they could satisfy other appetites first, when a pointed cough makes them both freeze.

Kady is sitting at the island, eating a bowl of cereal and watching them with an expression of vague disgust. "Fuck, no," she says. "It's way too early for this bullshit."

Quentin frowns, though he doesn't pull away from Eliot. "What bullshit?"

"This." Kady waves her spoon at them. "All this happy sappy bullshit. You pulled your heads out of your asses. Congrats. Get a room."

Quentin makes a face at her, but it's somewhat ruined by the fact that he can't stop grinning. "We have a room, thanks very much, but we already used it and my boyfriend was going to make me breakfast."

" _Ooooh_ ," Kady coos, without smiling. "Your _boyfriend_. Vom."

"Fuck off, Kady," Eliot sighs, but there's no bite to his words. "Do you want waffles or not?"

Kady actually considers it. "Pass," she says. "As much as I hate to miss out on your admittedly kickass cooking, I'm wiped. Another time, though?"

Eliot gives her a winning smile. "You bet!"

Kady snorts and gets to her feet. "Asshole."

”Love you, too, Kady,” Quentin calls as she saunters out of the kitchen. When she’s gone, he turns back to Eliot, grinning. “So. Waffles?”

* * *

They spend the rest of the day floating in an idyllic bubble - but they return to earth with a bump the next day. Quentin has to go back to work, and Eliot has to find something to do with his day. Without the relative structure of Brakebills or the familiarity of the Fillorian court, he finds himself listless and uncertain. He doesn't really know what he wants to do - even before Fillory, he never thought he'd live long enough to _need_ to know. So he lingers around the apartment, does his best to settle into a routine similar to the one they had at the mosaic, just without the mosaic, and ignores Quentin's obvious concern. It's good when they're together, when Quentin gets home after a long day to a home-cooked meal and Eliot can wrap him up in his arms and take him to bed. It's enough for now.

Still, Trials week comes as a welcome distraction. Quentin and the other staff get the week off while their first years battle it out against each other and Mayakovsky - and Eliot gets Quentin all to himself. They decide to go to Fillory, and Eliot sends word to Margo that they'll be arriving together in a couple of days. She somehow manages to convey her excitement through the answering bunny's monotone. Eliot loves her so much.

They reach Fillory hand-in-hand, something Margo's keen gaze gets stuck on almost instantly, and Eliot gives her a beaming smile. "Bambi! You didn't have to roll out the red carpet just for us."

"I think you need a refresher on what the red carpet actually is," Margo snarks, but the effect is ruined by the slight twitch of her lips as Eliot and Quentin draw closer. "Three people isn’t exactly an enormous crowd."

"But it's three of our favorite people," Quentin counters with a laugh, waving to Fen and Josh who beam back at them. "That counts for something."

Eliot steps forward, releasing Quentin so that he can wrap first Margo and then Fen into a tight hug. For an awful moment he thinks Josh might go in for a handshake, but then he hugs Eliot instead and he's not sure if that's worse or not. They release each other just as Quentin is letting go of Fen, who's laughing at something he said.

"It's so good to see you," she's saying. "We missed you when Eliot came without you."

"I missed you guys, too," Quentin says with a smile. "But, well. Eliot and I needed some time apart, to think about some things. Would've kinda defeated the purpose if I came with him."

"You still could have visited without him," Fen says archly. "Technically I'm sure you're still a king."

Quentin blinks. " _Am_ I?" he asks, frowning as he glances at Eliot and Margo. 

Eliot's gaze goes molten. "If you are, that's kind of hot."

Margo rolls her eyes as Quentin’s cheeks flush. "You were never banished, or deposed, so. I guess you are? We'll ask Tick and the other councilors later. Quit eye-fucking your boyfriend, El, we've got dinner waiting for you two."

Eliot sighs and reaches for Quentin's hand. "Fine," he says. "But later..."

"If you're not inviting me to join, I don't want to hear it," Margo says, ignoring the way Josh almost chokes on his own spit. "Come on, I'm fuckin' starving, you two took your sweet time getting here."

* * *

They only stay at Castle Whitespire for one night before they embark on the second leg of their journey. They eat dinner with Margo, Fen, and Josh, they stay up late into the night drinking and smoking something Josh gives them that makes them giggle uncontrollably for almost an hour, and then they crash out in Quentin's old room. The next morning they wake up just long enough to eat breakfast with them as well before heading out. Margo doesn't ask where they're going; after all of this, Eliot supposes she doesn't need to.

It's time. It's long overdue, in all honesty, and they're ready. But still, it steals Eliot's breath when they see the little cottage still standing exactly where it should, the mosaic nothing more than a frame now, but not an empty one as he half-expected. Instead, it's full of flowers, brightly coloured and planted in an intricate pattern clearly meant to mimic one of the thousands of designs they created over the course of a lifetime. Eliot doesn't even recognise it, but he's sure it's one of theirs. They must have plotted out every possible configuration, or near enough. He grips Quentin's hand.

"Q," he whispers. "It's beautiful."

"It is," Quentin breathes, his voice thick. "It - They're real. And they're still here, that's not - it's not overgrown."

Eliot nods. "I think someone lives here," he says, somewhat redundantly.

"No shit," Quentin says with a startled laugh - and then the front door opens, and a small head peeks out before being pushed back by a woman. 

"Hello out there," she calls, clearly looking at Eliot and Quentin where they're just standing at the edge of the clearing in a way that Quentin just realized is probably creepy. "Are you lost?"

"Oh," Eliot says, stepping a little closer. "No. I'm sorry, we were just--" He can't lie, helpless against the tide of memories. "We used to live here."

Quentin steps up with Eliot, tugging him along as he comes to the edge of the frame. "Sorry, we - we weren't expecting anyone to be here," he says with an apologetic smile. 

The woman gapes at the two of them, eyes wide, before she blurts out, "Holy _shit._ "

The little head peeks out again. "Momma, that's not a nice word."

"Sorry, baby." The woman reaches down, smoothes her hand over what must be her child's head. "It’s just - these are your great-great grandparents. Aren't you? Quentin and Eliot?"

Quentin nods, but before he can say anything else, the child frowns. "But they're not older than Grammy and Poppy."

"We're-- from another time," Eliot says, as they draw up to the cottage. "Sort of." He crouches down to the little boy's level and offers him a soft smile. "It's complicated. But it's very nice to meet you."

The boy still looks unconvinced, but he's clearly already softening in the face of Eliot's smile; Quentin knows exactly how he feels. He crouches down as well, hand resting on Eliot's shoulder. "I'm Quentin, and this is Eliot. What's your name?"

"Sebastian," the boy says with careful pronunciation. "But everyone calls me Seb. This is my momma." He tucks himself into the woman's skirts, expression suddenly shy, and she chuckles quietly. 

"I'm Holly," she says with a smile that's equal parts soft and wondering. "Teddy is my grandfather."

Eliot smiles up at her. "You look a lot like him," he offers. "But you have his mother's eyes."

Holly laughs, a sound that makes Quentin's heart ache with its uncanny familiarity. "Thank you," she says. "Do you - Do you want to come in? Or did you just stop by here on your way to Great-Grandmom's marker?"

Eliot straightens up slowly, and glances at Quentin. "We did," he admits. "But like Q said, we didn't expect anyone to be here. We'd love to come in."

Holly gives them a smile, stepping out of the doorway. "Teddy's youngest is my dad," she says. "Grandpa gave the cottage to him, since he helped Grandpa keep it up for years. He - my father - lives in the local village now, moved there after he gave this place to me and my wife."

"And Teddy?" Quentin asks, unable to decide which answer he'd rather hear, and utterly unprepared for the one he receives. 

Holly's smile softens. "Still alive," she says. "He's very old, but my father moved in with him, to help take care of him. Still spry enough to play with Seb, though."

Eliot actually convulses. "Teddy's still alive?" he breathes.

The look Holly gives them is understanding, her gaze dropping to where Quentin's fumbled for Eliot's hand, holding on almost too tight, before it lifts again. "He is," she says. "Still alive, and doing well."

"He cheats at knucklebones, and won't teach me how," Seb grumbles from his new spot at the kitchen table that Quentin remembers another little boy sitting at. 

"He learned it from me," Quentin says, almost absently. "I didn't teach him, either. You have to figure it out yourself or you won't be good at it." He looks at Holly, knows his eyes are wide. "In the village, you said?"

"Yes. I can take you to visit, if you'd like?"

"Please," Eliot says, his voice hoarse.

”Yes,” Quentin says, nodding fast enough to make himself dizzy. “That - We never - “ He glances at Eliot, squeezes his hand as he takes a deep breath. “We weren’t sure if we remembered because magic is… weird, or if there was another reason, but we never thought you’d actually be _alive._ ”

"We should have come sooner, either way," Eliot says. "I'm sorry."

Holly laughs quietly, her grin turning wry. "Things have been... rather chaotic, lately. The two of you have had bigger things to worry about, if even half of the rumors are true."

"Well, we're here now," Quentin says, squeezing Eliot's hand in his. "And we'll be back to visit even more."

"Yes," Eliot agrees, in a heartbeat. "You'll all be sick of us."

Holly laughs. "Oh, I don't think that will be possible."

* * *

They don't linger at the cottage; knowing that Teddy is still alive has shifted their priorities, and after Holly dresses Sebastian for an outing, she walks with them to the village, chatting about how it’s changed since they - "Well, since you died," she says, almost apologetic, and Quentin and Eliot make equally weird expressions. 

The village has gotten larger, almost qualifies as town now, and it's bustling when they arrive, people beginning to move around, socialize and prepare for the lunch hour. Holly leads them to the blacksmith's first, introduces them to her wife before they continue on to the quieter part of the village, where there's few shops and more houses, until they come to a rather large, charming two-story house. "Grandpa and Dad expanded it," Holly explains as they climb the steps. "He ended up becoming a carpenter as well."

"That's nice," Quentin says, for lack of anything better to say; his brain is still trying to cope with the fact that his son is _alive,_ and practically just on the other side of the door in front of them. "Carpentry became the family business."

Holly snorts, but she's smiling as she lifts her hand and uses the ornate knocker. "And metalworking." 

There are footsteps on the other side of the door, then the latch clicks, it swings open, and - "Holly! And Seb! My two favorite people!" 

"Don't let Grandpa hear you say that," Holly laughs as Seb reaches eagerly for his grandfather - and Quentin and Eliot's grandson. 

"Pah," Abel says dismissively, settling Seb into the crook of his arm before turning back to Holly, Quentin, and Eliot. "I see you've brought us guests, who are - " He stops, blinking, and Quentin can't do any more than smile softly, lifting the hand not entangled with Eliot's and giving him a small wave. Silence reigns for several long heartbeats, each thundering in Quentin's ears, before Abel breaks into an enormous grin. "Well! Come in, come in, Dad will _absolutely_ want to meet with you two now that you're _finally_ here."

Eliot grasps his grandson's hand as they step over the threshold. "I hate to show my age, but the last time we saw you you were smaller than Seb," he says. "My god. I swear we would have come sooner if we'd known."

Abel just laughs. "Oh, we know," he assures Eliot. "But that doesn't matter; you're here now."

"And we'll be coming back," Quentin promises, finally finding his voice. "We want to see _everyone_ again, and meet the new family."

"Good," Abel says, satisfied. "But let's start with someone you know, hm? Dad's just through here."

Their beautiful son is sitting in an armchair, with a blanket thrown over his knees, a cane propped against the windowsill beside him. His hair is pure white and tied back in a loose ponytail, though it's not as long as Quentin's was at that age. He's reading a book, and he looks up at their approach over the rim of his reading glasses. He takes a moment to squint at them, and then his eyebrows shoot up into his receding hairline. "Good gods," he says, his voice reedy and thin. "I thought I was going to die waiting for you."

"Sorry," Quentin somehow manages to choke out. "It - Things were pretty crazy for a while." He stumbles closer, until he can reach out, take Teddy's hand in his. "We didn't remember, and then we didn't know if - But we're here now."

Teddy pats his hand. "That's all that matters," he promises. "It's good to see you, Dad."

"It's good to see you, too," Quentin says with a smile and a slightly-wet laugh, glancing back in time to see Abel nudge a still-shocked Eliot forward a step. 

Eliot doesn't quite stumble over to Teddy, but he still feels shaky and unsteady when he reaches him. "Hi," he says, all kinds of inadequate. "It's been a while."

"It certainly has," Teddy agrees, smiling gently - and then, quick as a flash, he grasps his cane and smacks Eliot with it. Sharp pain blooms on his thigh, and Eliot cries out. "Took you long enough, asshole!"

”Teddy!” Quentin yelps, shocked, in tandem with Abel’s “Dad!”

"You shut up," Teddy snaps, and whacks Eliot again. "Does this look familiar? You gods-damned idiot?"

"Ow!" Eliot complains, rubbing his thigh. "I'm not disagreeing with your assessment, but-- Ow! Fuck!"

"I said! Does this look familiar?"

"Maybe if you stopped hitting me with it, I could--"

Teddy hits him again. "It's yours!" he cries. "You left it behind when you _died_ and left your poor husband to bury you in your garden all by himself!"

"Are you seriously mad at me for _dying?_ " Eliot points at Quentin. "He died, too!"

"Whoa, hey, don't bring me into this," Quentin says, eyes wide as he puts his hands up in the universal gesture of 'don’t shoot.' "Our son clearly has some unresolved issues with you."

"I'm resolving them right now," Teddy assures him, and smacks Eliot again. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Many things," Eliot answers through gritted teeth. "Mother _fu--_ "

"Don't you swear in front of my great grandson!" Teddy snaps.

"That’s hypocritical, Grandpa," Holly points out, eyes as wide as her son's as they watch the spectacle before them. "I'm pretty sure Seb's picked up most of his language from you."

Teddy ignores her in favour of lashing out at Eliot once more. "You're a disgrace to the family name!"

"Hey!" Eliot cries, dismayed. "I _started_ that family name!"

"Which makes you even _more_ of a disgrace!" _Thwack._ "Do you have any idea the stress you've put this family under? I've spent a lifetime impressing upon every single member the importance of leaving you two alone, of not fucking with time magic, and then you tried to screw everything up! I almost broke my own damn rules! _Asshole!_ "

" _Ow!_ " Eliot whines. "I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

" _Whatever you did?_ The first marriage was one thing. Queen Fen seems like a lovely woman and we all know why you did that. But the _King of Loria?_ I wasn't even grey until they announced that engagement!"

"Dad, really - " Abel tries to break in, but Teddy’s on a roll.

" _You turned me grey!_ " Teddy thunders. "You agreed to marry that pompous ass while Dad was right! Fucking! _There!_ "

These last three words are each punctuated with the hardest smacks yet, and Eliot's eyes are watering by the time Teddy falls back into his chair, panting, though it's got nothing to do with the pain. Eliot just follows him, reaches out, and pulls his son into a hug as tight as he dares to make it. "I _missed_ you," he says, and his voice breaks.

There's noise behind them, like the rest of their family is ducking out, but Quentin ignores it in favor of leaning forward, wrapping Eliot and Teddy in his arms. They stay like that for a long moment before Quentin wonders, "Does it make it worse that the marriage to Idri was your idea?"

Eliot sniffles into Teddy's shoulder. "Please don't make him hit me again."

Quentin laughs wetly, arms tightening around the two of them before he finally leans back so he can look at Teddy. "Did you get it all out of your system?"

"Yes," Teddy says, "thank you." He narrows his gaze at Eliot. "As long as this means you've removed your head from your ass."

"Yes," Eliot says quickly, stepping back to snatch Quentin's hand up in his. "We're together, no more marrying strange kings from far-off lands. I'm not even a king anymore."

Teddy nods at Quentin. "He is."

Quentin makes a face. "That's still weird," he says. "With everything else, I forgot about that and just..." He shakes his head, twines his fingers with Eliot's. "It took us a while, yeah, but we got here."

Teddy's expression finally softens, and he smiles up at them. "I've missed you both so much," he says. "Not everyone gets this opportunity, to see their parents again after so long. But I always knew you'd come back. And," his eyes twinkle, "I knew you'd go to the cottage first."

"Yeah, yeah," Quentin sighs, but he doesn't even try to fight the grin taking over his expression. "You always were a know-it-all. We didn't think you were... Well, that you were really real. I mean, Margo stopped us from going to the mosaic, but she had the Time Key, and we remembered..."

"Don't ask how it all works," Teddy says. "That, I don't know. But it wasn't really a surprise when we heard you were taking over the monarchy. You never lied about where you came from."

"No," Quentin chuckles, "we didn't." He smiles, leans in for another hug. "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too," Teddy says, clutching the back of Quentin's shirt with his bony hands. Eliot's heart breaks. They had most of their lifetime with this wonderful man, but they've still missed so much. When Quentin pulls back again the look on Teddy's face says he's feeling those lost years even more keenly than they are. "Have you been to see Mom yet?"

"Not yet; we were going to, but we changed plans after Holly told us you were still alive," Quentin confesses. 

Teddy nods. "You are going, though?"

"Of course," Eliot says. "Once you get sick of us, we'll head back up there."

Teddy smiles. "Unlikely," he says. "But I could come with you? I'm a little slower than I once was, true, but..."

"We'd love for you to come with us," Quentin says, reaching for Teddy's hand. 

* * *

Abel fetches the Fillorian equivalent of an ice pack for his grandfather as Quentin, Teddy, and Eliot prepare to trek back out to cottage, to go further into the woods where Arielle’s marker was laid. Holly and Sebastian go with them as far as the blacksmith’s, where they break off to have lunch with Holly’s wife, and the three men continue out of the village. They talk about everything and nothing, Quentin and Eliot soaking up all the information about their family that Teddy has to offer.

It takes them longer to reach the cottage than before, true, but none of them care much about that as they skirt the edge of the mosaic and the plaques on the ground that Quentin just now notices. He wonders morbidly if his and Eliot’s bodies are there, or if they somehow disappeared - but he doesn’t want to think about how they’d find out, and turns his attention to the small path behind the cottage. It’s well-kept, clearly still in regular use, and leads to the same small clearing that Quentin remembers with equal parts fondness and melancholy. A creek cuts through the clearing, a willow tree settled on its banks at one spot, the spot where Arielle had loved to sit and cool her feet while pregnant with Teddy, where she’d sat while Quentin and Eliot had splashed with Teddy in the creek those last few months, all of them determined to pretend that everything was fine, that they weren’t worried about Arielle’s declining health.

Quentin ducks under the sweeping branches of the willow tree, pushes them gently to the side, and never lets go of Eliot’s hand as he steps up to the trunk, reaching out to rest one hand against the rough bark there. “Hello, Arielle,” he says quietly, blinking back tears. “It’s been… so long.”

"We miss you," Eliot offers, squeezing Quentin's hand. "We love you."

Quentin gives Eliot a small, grateful smile. "You'd never believe what happened to us," he chuckles. "The things we saw and did after we finally solved the mosaic... I just wish you could've been there, to see it happen."

"She was, Q," Eliot murmurs. "She's always with you."

"With us," Quentin corrects, turning back to Teddy. "You said our family comes up here a lot?"

Teddy nods. He's leaning heavily on his cane now that they've reached their destination, but he looks happy enough. "I don't get up here myself very often anymore, but the kids like to say hi."

”Good,” Quentin hums. “I’m glad - I’m glad we finally decided to come, and that she wasn’t alone until we did.”

"I've done my best to keep her memory alive," Teddy says. "I've told all of my children all about her, everything I remember from when I was young and what you told me, growing up. And, of course, we still keep her likeness - the portrait of all of us that we had done before she died." He smiles. "My eldest granddaughter, Sasha, looks so like her. She wanted the cottage, but, well. I didn't want you to get a shock when you eventually showed up."

Quentin can't help but let out a startled laugh. "I might have passed out if someone who looked like Arielle had opened that door," he concedes. 

"It would have been funny, though," Eliot says, and Teddy laughs. "Like, way later, after I was finished having a heart attack."

Quentin snorts. "Way, _way_ later," he agrees. He can't help but smile as he reaches out to touch the bark of Arielle's willow again. "I still - I'm still having trouble believing all of this is real," he murmurs, partly to himself and partly to Teddy. "I half-expect to wake up back in Whitespire."

"We didn't even know if we were coming just to find out that there was no evidence of the life we lived here," Eliot adds. "But we needed to come anyway. Even if it wasn't real to anyone else, it was real to us."

"But it was real," Teddy says. He walks over with some difficulty and lays his hand next to Quentin's on the bark. "We've all lived good lives; full lives. And now you have a second chance to do it again."

"We do," Quentin says, smiling first at Teddy before he looks at Eliot, expression soft. "And we're planning to make good use of it."

"Don't take each other for granted," Teddy warns them. "It took you long enough to get here. Don't lose each other again."

Eliot gives Quentin a soft smile. "I have no intention of that, believe me."

Quentin squeezes Eliot's hand. "We did that once; never again," he agrees. 

Teddy considers them for a moment, something almost mischievous in his gaze. "Should I expect an invitation to the wedding, then?"

Quentin chokes on air. " _What?_ "

Teddy just blinks at them innocently. "Well, if you're starting fresh..."

"If we're starting fresh, then we're starting back at dating each other," Quentin says, flushing. "We didn't get married for two years after our first kiss the last time we did this."

"We weren't really dating that whole time, though," Eliot points out, eyebrows raised.

"No, we were just fucking like rabbits and ignoring our emotions," Quentin says dryly. "And then Arielle arrived, and things got really dramatic before she literally knocked our heads together."

"Sounds like you two need that sometimes," Teddy says, equally dry.

Quentin snorts, but he's smiling. "Yeah, we do," he agrees, and then points meaningfully at Teddy. "But we still aren't getting married yet."

Teddy shrugs easily. "All right," he says. "It's just, what kid doesn't want their loving parents to stay together forever? It was very difficult, watching all of that trying to marry other people, rushing off on suicide missions business from such a distance - and, you know, I am very old; I probably don't have long left, and I just so wanted--"

"Oh my god," Eliot cuts him off, laughing. "You are such an asshole."

Teddy blinks at him, affronted. "I am your _son_."

"Yeah, which means I raised you," Eliot fires back. "I know you're an asshole; you've been an asshole since you were six."

Teddy blinks some more, and then smiles. "Takes one to know one."

Quentin snickers. "He's got you there."

Eliot and Teddy share a grin, but then Teddy sobers and looks back to Quentin. "Really, though. Take all of this at your own pace, but don't put anything off for the sake of propriety. You've already spent one lifetime together, and much of this lifetime fighting for each other at every turn. You won't get another chance."

Eliot actually rocks back with the weight of his words. "When did you get so wise?" he asks thickly.

Teddy just laughs. "I've seen more years than you ever did, Pop."

Quentin shakes his head, expression fond as he reaches for Teddy, unable to resist the urge to hug him again. "We'll talk about it," he promises. "But no matter what, we will come back and visit every time we get the opportunity."

"You'd better," Teddy says, a suspicious shine in his eyes once they've pulled apart.

* * *

They stay with their family until well after dinner; only when Teddy starts falling asleep in his chair, Seb already snoozing on his lap, do they take their leave. They promise to be back soon and head back to Castle Whitespire, a journey that doesn't take long at all once they realise that Quentin still has the ability to summon the royal carriage.

Once they get back Margo is of course full of questions for them, but she backs down when they tell her they don't want to talk about it. It's nothing short of a miracle, although it soon becomes apparent that she has gossip of her own to share. She tells them over breakfast the next morning that she's still seeing Josh, but they've also welcomed Fen into their bed as well. If Eliot's being honest, he should have seen it coming. Josh was a bit of a wild card, but Fen has always been lovely. He's glad that they're happy.

He's not really thinking about Margo's love life right now, though; he's far more interested in his own. It's their last night before they travel back to Earth, and they're a little tipsy but not drunk. It's a struggle to keep their hands off each other as they let themselves into their rooms. Eliot locks the door behind them and then catches Quentin's hand before he can take more than a few steps into their suite, reeling him back in for a slow, drugging kiss. "Alone at last," he murmurs, smirking against Quentin's mouth.

Quentin kisses him back eagerly, hands sliding over Eliot's shoulder. "Finally," he says, breathless, when they eventually part. "Were you waiting to get me alone?"

Eliot grins at him. "I'm always waiting to get you alone," he admits. "I'm very possessive."

Quentin laughs quietly, one hand curving around the back of Eliot's neck to tug him into another kiss. "Well, good thing I like you being possessive," he hums. 

"Yeah?" Eliot asks, reaching down to squeeze Quentin's ass.

Quentin's breath hitches, and he can't help but push into Eliot's touch. "Yeah," he breathes. " _Fuck,_ El - "

"Shh," Eliot soothes, sliding his other hand into Quentin's hair. "I've got you, sweetheart. Whatever you want."

"I want you to stop fucking _teasing,_ " Quentin complains, but it lacks heat as he presses in close again, lets the hand not on Eliot's neck drift down until he can slide two fingers into Eliot's waistband, untuck his shirt just enough to get his hand on Eliot's skin. 

Eliot shivers against him. "I'm not teasing," he promises, voice low. "I want you, Quentin."

"Then get over here and take me."

* * *

Every move that night feels like one they’ve done a thousand times before - and they have, in another life, in another bed. There’s a few false starts, a few hesitant touches, making sure that _they_ still like what’s going on, that they aren’t misremembering. Once they're sure of that, they let themselves go. They tire each other out, fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms the way that they’ve grown accustomed to, and life carries on, with some additional teasing from Margo that morning when they meet her for breakfast before Quentin and Eliot head back to Earth.

When they arrive, the last thing that either of them expects to see is Alice in the living room, studying one of the bookshelves intently. Quentin almost drops his bag on his foot in surprise. "Alice? What are you - I thought you were at the Library."

Alice's shoulders visibly straighten before she turns to face Quentin and Eliot, her expression pleasantly neutral. "I was," she says. "But one of their missing books was last checked out to Marina. I was looking for it here."

"Marina had access to the Library?" Eliot asks. He shakes his head. "Unimportant. Alice. It's good to see you."

Alice tilts her head. "It's... good to see you, too, Eliot," she says - and she even sounds like she might mean it, if it weren't for the complicated expression on her face, the tight line of her shoulders. 

An awkward silence falls for a moment before Quentin clears his throat. "I'm going to - go drop our things off," he says, glancing between Eliot and Alice. "It is good to see you, Alice."

Alice's expression softens into a small but genuine smile as she looks at Q, who smiles back before disappearing into their bedroom, leaving Eliot and Alice alone. Alice doesn't let the new silence linger long, however. "So, you two took a trip?"

Eliot nods. "To Fillory," he says. "While the first years were doing the Trials."

Alice makes a politely interested noise. "How are Margo and Fen? And Josh?"

"Fine," Eliot says, nodding. "Good. All dating, I think."

Alice blinks, one eyebrow raising. "You _think?_ Didn't you just spend a week with them?"

"Most of a week," Eliot says. "They're very weird. I knew they were fucking, but Margo doesn't exactly... date? It's complicated."

Alice hums. "So, the rest of that week was spent... where, exactly? At the mosaic?"

Eliot chokes on his own spit. "Um, yes."

Alice regards him with something a little angry and a lot resigned in her eyes before she sighed. "I sort of want to hate you both, you know," she says, far more mildly than Eliot expects. "For everything you two put me through. But it wasn't just you making the decisions."

Eliot nods. "I'm sorry that we hurt you," he says. "If you have to hate us then I get it, really. When I was in your shoes, I wanted to hate you, too. But I can't apologise for being happy with him, Alice."

Alice snorts, but... Oddly enough, her posture relaxes. "I knew it was a long shot," she admits after a moment. "When we talked about trying again, before - " She swallows, glances away for a moment before she looks at Eliot, gaze intent. "I still care for him, Eliot. And if you ever hurt him, I have access to some of the most remote, inhospitable planets in the universe."

Eliot laughs at that. "Believe me," he says, "I'd go willingly."

"Good," Alice says, satisfied. "He loves you, and I-I get it, sort of. With that history, what you two accomplished..." The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Don't fuck it up again, Waugh."

Eliot inclines his head. "I'll try my utmost," he promises.

Alice just stares at him for a long moment before she nods, just as Quentin comes back from their bedroom. The three of them make a little more small talk before Alice leaves, going to check out a few of Marina’s caches to find the missing book. Once she’s gone, Quentin reaches out and catches Eliot’s hand. “Hey,” he says, quiet and a little nervous. “I - I wanted to go out for a bit. Will you come with me?”

Eliot looks surprised, but not unwilling. "Of course," he says. "Where did you want to go?"

Quentin takes a breath. "I... wanted to go visit Julia," he says quietly. "Maybe stop and pick up some flowers or something on the way."

Eliot's expression softens with understanding. "Of course," he says. "I think that's a great idea."

Quentin smiles, tucks his hand into Eliot's, and they head out. They stop by a small florist's shop on their way to the cemetery, and when she hears what the flowers are for, she suggests a simple bouquet of larkspur, blue hydrangeas, and white carnations. Quentin carries the flowers as they walk, his other hand still joined with Eliot's as they finally reach their destination. 

There was no body to bury, so Quentin and Julia's family had decided on a memorial statuette instead, tucked up next to a bench. There's a plaque on the plinth, inscribed with Julia's name, date of birth, and date of death, as well as a brief description of Julia that feels too small to encompass all that she truly was. Quentin's hand tightens in Eliot's as they approach, and he steps forward, lays the flowers at the feet of the woman immortalized in marble, dancing with a crown made of sapling limbs, and reaching for the sky. Julia's family hadn't questioned Quentin's request of the crown when he'd told them it was an inside thing with the two of them. They never knew her as Our Lady of the Trees, but Quentin would never forget her as such. 

"Hi, Jules," he murmurs, voice already choked as he steps back, tucks himself against Eliot's side. "It's been a while."

Eliot wraps his arm around Quentin, a reassuring warmth against his side, and clears his throat. "I didn't say it at the memorial service," he offers, "but thank you. I hate that it cost you your life, but what you did, it gave me another chance. I can't express how grateful I am for that."

Quentin reaches across himself for Eliot's hand, twining their fingers together. "It gave _us_ another chance," he says. "I wish you were here every single day, even if it's just so you can say 'I told you so.'" He clears his throat, leans a little more heavily into Eliot. "I'm a professor, now. At Brakebills. It's - so weird, sometimes, I'm barely older than the students I'm teaching, but it doesn't feel like it. I feel fucking ancient compared to them, sometimes."

"You are," Eliot mutters, and smirks. "You'd be proud of him, though," he goes on to Julia. "He's making a difference to those kids. And he's going to make sure that what happened to us doesn't happen again."

"I always thought it'd be you," Quentin confesses. "After we learned about the timelines, after you sacrificed your goddess powers. I thought, once shit finally settled down, you'd be the one teaching at Brakebills. I could see it so easily. Still can, and it... hurts. Knowing you'll never get that chance now." He takes a deep, steadying breath before he continues, "It hurts a little less every day, though. I'm always going to miss you, Jules. But you wouldn't want any of us to mourn forever."

Eliot's arm tightens around Quentin's shoulders. "I'm going to take good care of him," he promises, his own voice thick. "I'm not going to waste this chance."

"I love you, Jules," Quentin murmurs. "I hope, wherever you ended up at in the Underworld, you can see us all now. I hope you're at peace."

Eliot pulls him in close and kisses the side of his head. "She can see you," he murmurs against his temple. "She loves you so much. So do I."

Quentin sighs, tilts his head until it’s resting against Eliot’s shoulder. “I know,” he whispers, eyes hot and itchy even though his chest finally feels _light_. “I love you, too.”


End file.
